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SHE ALLOWED HERSELF TO BE LED GENTLY ALONG THE LANE. 


BETTY, A BUTTERFLY. 


BY 

v 

A. G. PLYMPTON, 


AUTHOR OF “DEAR DAUGHTER DOROTHY.” 


Ellustratcti bg the Author. 


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copyr ighj 7 *<?; 


AUG 24 1091 

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BOSTON: 

ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
1891. 


O 




Copyright , 1891 , 

By A. G. Plympton. 


SSnibersttg IBress : 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U. S.A. 


CONTENTS 


Page 


I. A Day’s Tramp 

II. A Deserted Home 

III. The New Neighbors 

IV. The Studio 

V. Uncle Richard ........ 

VI. Surprises 

VII. Being a Model 

VIII. Rosamond 

IX. “Thee has spoiled the Picture” . 

X. The Fire 

XI. Uncle Richard’s Return . . . . 


7 

25 

35 

57 

66 

92 

106 

128 

142 

163 

179 




BETTY, A BUTTERFLY 


CHAPTER I. 

A day’s TRAMP. 



LITTLE BETTY 
; sat on the stile at 
the end of the lane. 
Her black curls 
were dancing in 
the soft spring 
wind, and peal after 
peal of childish 
laughter burst from 
her ripe red lips. 

“ Betty, Betty ! ” 
at last cried Ra- 
chel, who had been 
watching her with 


8 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


soft, anxious eyes, “ has thee no con- 
science? Here thee has been away 
since early morning and have not brought 
the cakes for Bardy after all. How can 
thee be so thoughtless, child ? ” 

“ Because I am like the gypsies. 
Does n’t Aunt Nancy always say so ? 
Thee must not expect me to behave like 
thyself, Rachel;” and she laughed mer- 
rily again at the thought, as she glanced 
with mischievous eyes at her sedate 
friend. 

Indeed, nothing would seem to be 
more impossible than for this gay little 
creature to become like her companion, 
for Rachel was the demurest and gen- 
tlest of young Quaker girls. The soft 
gray dress she wore well suited her 
meek loveliness, for she had soft dove- 
like eyes and a delicate skin. As for 
Betty, there was little of the dove in her 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


9 


laughing dark eyes. The combination 
of her gypsy beauty and sober dress, 
her careless gayety and quaint speech, 
was so droll that it was always easier to 
laugh at than scold her. Rachel could 
not help giving her a kiss and a smile, 
which tempered the severity of her 
scolding. 

“ Why should thee be like the gypsies 
when thee has been brought up in care- 
ful, serious ways ? Thy people have 
always been industrious and sober. Do 
I not remember thy beautiful mother, 
Betty, and did I not promise her to be 
such a friend to thee as she had been 
to me? Come, dear, thee must go in 
now.” 

Betty hopped down from the stile, and 
allowed herself to be led gently along 
the lane while she listened to an oft- 
repeated story. 


io Betty , a Butterfly. 

“ It was just this sweet season of the 
year, Betty,” Rachel began, “ that I first 
saw thy mother. It was on my way to 
the meeting one Sabbath day, when she 
came down the street leaning on thy 
father’s arm. ‘ See, that is Silas Grey’s 
young bride,’ people whispered. She 
had lovely great dark eyes, and hair as 
black as night.” 

“ Like mine ? ” asked Betty, 

“ It was as smooth as satin, dear 
child,” answered Rachel, passing her 
hand over Betty’s wilful curls. “ And 
she was fair — very fair, without such 
a ruddy tinge as these cheeks of thine 
wear.” 

“ I suppose she was good and quiet 
like thee,” cried the child, with a sigh 
and a pout. 

“ She was like an angel. Have I not 
told thee many times how, because I 


1 1 


Betty , a Butterfly . 

cried at the teasing of the children, 
she took me with her into the meeting, 
where, entering for the first time, all 
eyes were upon her ; and how after- 
wards she became my friend, although 
I was but a tiresome child ? Thy father 
was a right good man, too ; and as for 
thy grandfather, Friend Simon Grey, 
thee knows how his name is still held 
in respect in our community. Where 
thee gets thy wild and reckless nature 
I do not know; for thee is like a butter- 
fly, dear child, ever flitting from place 
to place, and taking no thought or care 
for the future.” 

“ But thee knows we like the silly 
butterflies, after all,” said the child, 
archly, looking up with her roguish 
eyes into the sweet face above her own ; 
“ and I do believe for all thy scoldings, 
thee is fond of thy foolish Betty.” 


I 2 


Betty , a Butterfly. 

“ Thee has a loving heart, — that I 
know,” said the other, privately thinking 
that no one could withstand the witch- 
ery of Betty’s voice and smile, “ and 
sometime thee will give up thy wild 
ways, and become a good and thought- 
ful child.” 

“ Oh, but I could never work all day 
like thee and Aunt Nancy, and have a 
care for all the stupid things about the 
house. Never, never!” cried the little 
girl. “ I shall always be like the wild 
things out of doors, that live as they 
please.” 

But Rachel only shook her head. 
“ Look at that little cloud, Betty, that 
drifts so carelessly, as it seems, in the 
sky ; well, it can only sail in that same 
way. And the grass, see how it bends 
in obedience to the wind. These wild 
things thee envies so are no more free 


Betty , a Butterfly . 13 

than thyself when thee is guided, as 
thee should be, by Aunt Nancy’s wish.” 

They had now reached the end of 
the lane, from which point the old farm- 
house which was Betty’s home could be 
seen ; and there in her thrifty door-yard, 
watching for the runaway, stood the trim 
figure of Aunt Nancy. 

“ Oh,” laughed little Betty, “ will she 
not scold me now for a blunderbuss ! 
Good-by, Rachel. Thee needs not 
look so very sorrowful; I did not mean 
to do wrong, and no great harm is 
done.” 

But Rachel shook her head rather 
sadly as she watched the gay child flit 
airily down the hill to the farm-house. 

Early that morning Betty had been 
bidden by Aunt Nancy to watch for the 
baker’s cart, which passed the house on 
that day of every week. 


14 Betty , a Butterfly . 

It was the softest of spring mornings, 
and a robin upon the branch of a pine- 
tree beneath which Betty sat, was pour- 
ing out his ecstasy in a joyous song. 
There was another sound besides that 
of the robin’s song which smote on 
Betty’s ear, — the cries of little Bardy, 
who had just distinguished himself by 
jumping from the roof of the smoke- 
house, and had covered himself with 
more bruises than glory. Now, Bardy 
had no faith in medicines, but he was 
sure that some ginger-cakes such as the 
baker carried, would cure him. If he 
had been wise he would have stopped 
crying and watched for the baker him- 
self, rather than put his trust in a gay 
butterfly like Betty. 

It all happened as one might guess. 
For some moments the little girl watched 
the robin from her seat in the door-yard, 


i5 


Betty, a Butterfly . 

but when the robin flew away she too 
went to see if he were not building a 
nest in the old cherry-tree by the well. 
When, having satisfied her curiosity, she 
returned, the baker’s cart was just dis- 
appearing down the curve of the road, 
and she was greeted by Aunt Nancy’s 
voice, a degree less mild than usual, 
saying, — 

“ Run after him, Betty, thou trouble- 
some child, and mind thee does not 
come back without the cakes.” 

Betty obeyed, running as fast as she 
could, and calling “Baker, baker!” at 
every step ; but the tinkling of the bells 
drowned her voice. The baker was 
going to the village. 

“ What a good bit of luck,” thought 
Betty. “ I will take the short cut 
through the woods, and have a chance, 
at last, to see if the cowslips are out.” 


1 6 Betty , a Butterfly . 

On one side of the road were open 
fields and pastures ; on the other, thick 
woods. Presently Betty came upon a 
narrow cart-road, into which she darted 
like a squirrel. 

The woods were of pine-trees for the 
most part, but here and there their 
lightsome friends, the dainty birches, 
had sprung up beside them, answering 
the melancholy whispering of the pines 
with a gay chatter. There was a pond 
in the woods, from which came the 
sound of the hylas, — the little insects 
which Betty called tree-toads, and whose 
cheerful note she liked almost as much 
as the robin’s song. 

At the brook she took off her shoes 
and stockings and waded into its clear 
water. The sunlight fell in gleaming 
spots here and there along the stream, 
leaving long shadowy spaces where the 


Betty , a Butterfly. 17 

cowslips grew thickest. It was a fresh, 
cool nook, with a delicious earthy smell, 
and full of delicate spring colors. 

Here Betty delightedly loitered, gath- 
ering a big bunch of cowslips ; but 
notwithstanding the delay, when she 
reached the grocers in the village the 
baker’s cart had not yet arrived. 

“ It usually gets here about half-past 
eleven,” Mr. Miller, the grocer, told 
her. 

It was now twenty minutes past 
eleven by the village clock, so Betty 
sauntered down the street looking into 
the windows of the shops, and many 
a bit of finery claimed her eye. There 
were fine shiny ribbons and dress-goods 
of quite wonderful beauty in her opinion, 
utterly unlike such sober-hued cloths as 
Aunt Nancy bought. The pretty colors 
pleased her right well, so that not until 


1 8 Betty , a Butterfly, 

the clanging of the bells announced 
the noon hour did she remember her 
errand. On reaching the grocers she 
found that again the baker had escaped 
her. 

“ By this time he is half way to North 
Dunham,” said Mr. Miller. 

The little girl laughingly declared 
that it was lucky she was not easily 
tired, for she could not go home with- 
out seeing him. She reflected that the 
very ugly name of Betty Blunderbuss, 
by which she was sometimes called, was 
not undeserved, and also that it would 
not do to go back to Aunt Nancy with- 
out the cakes. 

When half the distance to North 
Dunham was made, Betty was fortunate 
enough to come upon an ox team trav- 
elling in the same direction as herself, 
and in merry fashion she soon made 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


19 


friends with the driver, who, glad of this 
bright little companion perhaps, fixed 
up a seat for her in his cart and carried 
her the remaining distance. 

But the oxen travelled after the 
fashion of oxen, and were no match 
for the baker’s nimble horse ; so that 
Betty arrived at her destination a whole 
hour after the baker’s cart, which was 
now on its way to the “ Centre,” whither 
she reluctantly followed it. 

There at last Betty caught her first 
glimpse of the old yellow-wheeled 
vehicle, for having gone its entire route 
it now stood stock-still by the bake- 
shop. 

Betty came up almost staggering with 
fatigue, and just able to gasp out to the 
baker, who was taking his unsold goods 
from the cart, — 

“ I ’m glad I have caught thee at last. 


20 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


I have come all the way from Miss 
Nancy Tucker’s, and I want half-a- 
dozen ginger-cakes.” 

The baker, a stout German fellow, 
looked down curiously at his customer. 

Betty’s face, unshaded by a hat from the 
sun, was red, her dress was in disorder, 
dirty and dusty beyond belief ; her 
hands were full of flowers as wilted as 
herself. She had followed him for 
six miles, and she wanted half-a-dozen 
ginger-cakes ! He broke into a loud * 

laugh. 

“ Thee would not hear me, though 1 
screamed and screamed,” cried the child, 
indignantly; “and now I must have the 
cakes quick.” 

But at this demand the baker laughed 
louder than before. 

“ I haf sold efry one,” he said, at 
last. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 21 

Betty sank down on the steps. Tears 
rushed to her eyes; and then with her 
quick sense of humor she began to enjoy 
the joke, and joined in the laugh. 

When the baker’s wife listened to 
Betty’s story, her heart was filled with 
compassion. 

“ She haf walk six miles for noding, 
poor ting!” she cried. 

The .great, glowing dark eyes of the 
little tramp, her sweet smile and her 
lovely voice made it seem very hard 
that she should go back empty-handed 
after her long walk. 

“ I tell you vat,” said the baker’s wife, 
at length, “ I vill make you dose cakes.” 

So she took Betty into the house, 
where, after washing her face and hands, 
she gave her a great bowl of bread and 
milk. Then the little girl curled herself 
up like a tired kitten upon the lounge, 


22 Betty , a Butterfly . 

and long before the dough was stirred 
up for the cakes, she had fallen fast 
asleep. 

Late in the afternoon Betty was wak- 
ened by the baker, who had found some 
one going with a team by Miss Tucker’s 
house, and who was willing to take the 
traveller home. Still half asleep, she 
was carried out to the wagon and lifted 
in. The two sleek horses started off at 
a good pace, and Betty, freshened by the 
breeze, waved her good-bys to her two 
kind friends standing in the doorway of 
the bake-shop. There are people in 
this world who seem always to fall upon 
their feet, and of these this little Betty 
was one. 

After she had been put into the 
wagon, the baker had handed her a 
paper-bag. It was warm with the freshly 
baked cakes within, which emitted a 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


2 3 


delightfully spicy odor. By and by, 
Betty remembered that she had had 
nothing but the bowl of bread and milk 
to eat since breakfast. She was very 
hungry, and discovering that there were 
more than the half-dozen cakes she had 
been sent for, took one out and began 
nibbling it. When it was eaten she 
took out another and then another, and 
in this way munched on until only six 
cakes being left she resolutely twisted 
the top of the bag. 

However, before she would reach 
home there were yet three miles to be 
passed, and her appetite was far from 
satisfied. Temptation was strong and 
constant ; and when she was left at the 
turn of the road that led to Miss Tucker’s 
farm, the sad truth is that not a crumb 
of Bardy’s cakes remained. 

“ I have travelled twelve miles for 


24 Betty , a Butterfly . 

half-a-dozen cakes, and here I am with- 
out them after all,” the little girl 
thought ; then spying Rachel at the 
end of the lane she hurried toward her, 
and catching her by the hands, with 
merry jests gave her the history of the 
day. 

“ But why,” said Rachel, having lis- 
tened to the end, “ did thee not buy the 
cakes at the grocer’s in the village? 
Thee knows Aunt Nancy often buys 
them there.” 

“ Why, so she does,” cried the butter- 
fly. “ ’Tis odd I did not think of it ; 
but, oh,” she went on with a fresh peal 
of laughter, “ this makes the joke even 
better than before. ’Tis a wonder one 
could be so stupid ! ” and a more serious 
view of her profitless day Betty refused 
to take. 


Betty , a Btitterfly. 


25 


CHAPTER II. 


A DESERTED HOME. 

HERE were several families of 



Grey in Rose County, but little 
Betty Grey could not claim kinship 
with any of them. Indeed she had 
been often told by Miss Tucker, with 
whom she lived, that she had but one 
relation in the world, and he was in the 
uttermost parts of the earth. This 
meant that he was living in France, 
which in Aunt Nancy’s mind was a 
portion of heathendom. 

“ I have but a poor opinion of thy 
Uncle Richard,” she once said to Betty 
in answer to her persistent questions. 
“ Never in all these years has he in- 


26 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


quired how it fared with his dead 
brother’s child. He must make but a 
poor living to be forced to leave her 
thus to the care of strangers. But, 
indeed, he did never incline much to 
work — thy Uncle Richard.” 

“ Why, thee knows he is an artist,” 
Betty answered, bravely standing by 
the uncle who had so neglected her. 
“ He paints pictures.” 

“ And what profit is there in that ? ” 
cried Aunt Nancy, who cared nothing 
at all for art. In her mind, work meant 
farm- work. “ Pictures are useless 
things, child ; but there was plenty to do 
on thy grandfather’s farm for such as 
were willing to make themselves useful.” 

For answer, Betty could only .look 
respectfully up over the mantel-shelf 
where hung the one picture in all Aunt 
Nancy’s house. This picture was not 


27 


Betty , a Butterfly. 

the work of Uncle Richard, however, 
but was painted by Mrs. Hill, Bardy’s 
mother, who sometimes boarded with 
Miss Tucker, and who had given her 
this huge piece of her handiwork. It 
was called “ Morning in Norway,” and led 
one to suppose that morning in that far 
country was quite different from morn- 
ing elsewhere, — in Rose County for 
instance, — but was looked upon by 
Betty as a probable master-piece. 

In her opinion, it was not to be 
wondered at if her uncle preferred 
painting beautiful pictures like this 
to digging potatoes, as Aunt Nancy 
clearly thought was his duty. But 
even allowing that he did not like to 
work, and was what the farmers called 
shiftless, he still might be very agreea- 
ble. Betty privately thought that peo- 
ple of this sort were much less tiresome 


28 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


than the thrifty ones who were always 
too busy to be amusing. Besides, she 
could not complain of him on this score, 
for one might perhaps say that she, too, 
was shiftless. 

It was all very well for Aunt Nancy 
to be critical ; but this was all the relation 
she had, and she wished to make the 
best of him. 

Miss Tucker, or Aunt Nancy as the 
little girl called her, owned one of the 
best farms in Rose County. She was 
called a born manager ; but one might 
as well seek to manage a humming-bird 
as careless little Betty. It was not that 
she did not wish to please the kind 
friend who when she was left a helpless 
orphan had taken care of her, but simply 
that there seemed to be no serious side 
to her nature. When Aunt Nancy, as 
sometimes happened, took her to task, 


29 


Betty , a Butterfly. 

Betty listened respectfully to every word ; 
but then she would take her way to the 
garden or the poultry yard, having been 
bidden perhaps to perform some neg- 
lected task, with a song upon her lips as 
sweet as a bird’s and with just such a 
little thrill of joyousness in it. It 
seemed on these occasions that she did 
not realize what had happened to her. 

Betty was a pretty child ; even Aunt 
Nancy, who had little eye for beauty, 
saw that. Her eyes were so large, dark, 
and lustrous ; her complexion so lovely, 
notwithstanding the extra tint of brown 
which the sun had imparted to it ; and 
her little figure so full of grace and 
movement, — that it was a pleasure to 
look at her. 

The Greys and the Tuckers had 
been neighbors for generations, and the 
Grey farm-house still stood in the midst 


30 Betty, a Butterfly. 

of its once fertile fields, staring from out 
its many windows upon a world that 
had apparently forgotten it. After the 
death of Betty’s father, the old house 
was sold ; but the buyer had not cared 
to live in it, and it had long been 
unoccupied. Already it had a deserted 
and dreary air, for no one save little 
Betty ever cared to go there. To her, 
however, it was the abode of a charming 
family. This family owed its existence 
to Betty’s imagination ; but to her each 
member of it was as real as Aunt 
Nancy or Rachel. 

The imaginary father was an agree- 
able gentleman, whose principal occu- 
pation was planning picnics and other 
amusements for his children. And the 
mother — how delightful she was ! 
dressed in a cherry-colored satin and 
always ready to make cake for Betty, 


Betty , a Butterfly. 31 

the imaginary cake also having an 
advantage, for it never disagreed with 
any one. There were some ten or more 
sisters, too, — gay girls, let me tell you, 
as different as possible from quiet 
Rachel, and in whose company she 
could not be lonely. It is truly pathetic 
to think of the child slipping away 
to these imaginary relations in the 
deserted home of her fathers ; but her 
happiest hours were passed there, and 
she did not know that it was pathetic 
at all. 

Late one afternoon of that same 
spring, Betty might have been seen 
dancing through the fields that sepa- 
rated Miss Tucker’s house from the old 
homestead. Aunt Nancy had begun 
the spring house-cleaning, and had kept 
Betty so busy all day, running here and 
there, that this was the first chance she 


32 Betty , <2 Butterfly . 

had found to visit her family. Betty’s 
mother, you may be sure, never went 
through this tiresome and useless pro- 
cess, and intended to give a party that 
afternoon in honor of Betty’s birthday, 
which anniversary Aunt Nancy had not 
celebrated. 

As Betty skipped along with the im- 
aginary sisters beside her, she was very 
happy ; and the eleven little girls were 
as harmonious as possible while they 
decided who should come to the party, 
and what the entertainment should be. 

Betty had now but to scramble over 
an old stone-wall and she would be in 
her own door-yard ; but instead of doing 
so, she suddenly stood motionless, in an 
attitude of the greatest astonishment. 
Her arms dropped to her side, and the 
apple blossoms she had brought to dec- 
orate the festal halls fell unnoticed from 


Betty, a Butterfly. 


33 



her hands ; 
for on one 
side of the old 
house hung a plat- 
form such as is 
used by painters. 

™ ~ „ Piles of boards 

The Grey House. 

were lying by the 
lilac-bushes, and the shingles which had 
been torn off the roof were scattered all 
over the yard. Moreover, a party of work- 


3 


34 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


men with their tools were walking down 
the road. Evidently they had been at 
work upon the old Grey house. 

“Dear me!” said Betty, with a little 
gasp, “ I did not know father was 
going to repair the house ; ” but she said 
it in a spiritless sort of way, and forgot 
to answer for the sisters. 

She looked into the kitchen, and there 
by the fireplace, where she had left her 
mother making candy only the afternoon 
before, was a large box of nails, and in the 
corner, where her little brother’s cradle 
had stood so long, were pots of paint. 

“It’s the ice-cream for the party, I 
suppose,” Betty tried to say; but, alas, 
these realities spoiled the play. They 
seemed to say : — 

“All that nonsense is over. You 
had better go home, little girl.” 

And that is exactly what Betty did. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


35 


CHAPTER III. 

THE NEW NEIGHBORS. 

TT was well that Betty had not loitered 
by the old house, for on reaching 
home she found that Rachel had 
dropped in for a chat with Aunt Nancy. 
Perhaps “ dropped in ” is not the proper 
term to use; for Rachel had declared 
the evening too beautiful to spend in 
doors, and had sat down on the seat in 
the porch, enticing Miss Tucker for 
once out of her stiff sitting-room. 

“ I have brought thee the news, 
Aunt Nancy,” she began. “ Thee is 
going to have new neighbors.” 

“In the Grey house, I suppose,” ex- 
claimed Miss Tucker, interested at once. 


36 Betty , a Butterfly. 

“ Are the people from Dunham who 
bought it going to live there at last ? ” 

“ No,” Rachel answered ; “ the house 
has changed hands again, and now it is 
a young man who has bought it. Two 
young men from New York, so I have 
heard, are to live there this summer.” 

“ Two young men ! ” exclaimed Aunt 
Nancy and Betty, who had just arrived, 
in a breath, and the child went on, — 

“ I don’t want two young men in my 
house.” 

“Tut, tut, child, why should thee 
care ? Thee can never live there thy- 
self.” 

“ May be I can sometime,” said Betty, 
with a toss of her pretty curls. “ Besides, 
if anybody is to live there, I would rather 
it would be a nice family with children 
for me to play with.” 

“To play with ! Yes ; play is all thee 


37 


Betty, a Butterfly. 

thinks of, silly child. They will find the 
land pretty well run out, Rachel. Eh? ” 
“ They are not going to work the 
farm, I believe. They are artists. 
William Johnson, whom they have 
en gag e d to do some carpentering, says 
they are going to turn the barn into a 
studio.” 

“ A studio ! That ’s a sad waste of 
a good building. That barn is built of 
the very best timber, thee knows. I 
should think the shed would be good 
enough for such trifling work,” cried 
Aunt Nancy, whose economical soul 
was vexed at this arrangement. “ Does 
thee know the name of the young man 
that has bought the farm, Rachel ? ” 
“Yes,” said Rachel; “it is Grey, 
which is an odd thing, is it not?” 

“Why, thee does not suppose — ” 
began Aunt Nancy, with a glance at 


38 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


Betty ; and then interrupting herself, she 
continued, “ Grey is no uncommon name 
after all. Well, well, I hope he will not 
be sick of his bargain ; but for such as 
they, there can be little of interest here.” 

All this, as you may think, was very 
hard on poor Betty. She sent her 
family off for a trip to the city, and con- 
descended to stay temporarily herself 
with Miss Tucker. The imaginary 
relations never returned from their trip ; 
and in the course of future events their 
existence was forgotten. 

Betty’s thoughts now turned to the 
new occupants of the homestead. With 
mingled feelings of pleasure and dismay 
she watched the alterations being made 
in it, and wondered how it would seem 
to be shut out of her old home and play- 
ground, and to see strangers, with all the 
rights of ownership, entering its door. 


39 



Betty , a Butterfly . 

One evening just at sunset she was 
sitting, with the old black cat as com- 


The,Little Gypsy and the Old Tabby made 
a Fantastic Picture. 

panion, on the stone-wall that bordered 
Miss Tuckers orchard, when the station- 
wagon with two passengers came up the 


40 Betty , a Butterfly. 

hill. Betty knew at once, by their city 
air, that her new neighbors had arrived. 

The little gypsy and the old tabby 
made a fantastic picture, with the setting 
sun between the tree-trunks as a back- 
ground ; and the young men waved 
their hands and smiled at the handsome 
child, who returned their salutations in 
her own graceful and pretty way. 
When they were out of sight, she has- 
tened home to tell Aunt Nancy of the 
event. 

According to Betty, such charming 
beings had never before visited Rose 
County ; but for some time the little 
girl was quite alone in her admiration. 
Queer reports were spread abroad. It 
was plain that the ways of the new- 
comers were not the ways of Rose 
County, and still less that of the little 
community of Friends who were their 


Betty , a Butterfly. 41 

immediate neighbors. “ Men who were 
in their beds long after the sun had risen, 
and did nothing for a living but fling 
paint about in the pastures,” as the 
farmers said, were looked upon with 
suspicion ; and it was not until they had 
shown their friendly good-will by many 
kindnesses that this feeling changed 
into one of honest liking. 

But from the first, Betty was the 
young men’s earnest champion. She 
only feared that when they found 
into what a quiet neighborhood they 
had come, they would do as Aunt 
Nancy had prophesied, and turn their 
backs upon Rose County. She tried, in 
vain, to induce Miss Tucker to enliven 
their solitude by a neighborly call. 

“ I have a mind to go my own self — 
if she won’t,” Betty one day said saucily 
to Rachel. 


42 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


She meant it for a joke ; but the idea 
pleased her so much that finally she 
determined to carry it out, and the 
day Miss Tucker went over to Dun- 
ham seemed to her mind a fitting 
opportunity. 

The child’s wardrobe had not been 
planned with a view to these social 
duties; it consisted of a few plain frocks 
and an old gray sack. Such a thing as 
a hat Betty did not at present possess, 
the one that had been provided for her 
having long ago sailed down the brook 
as a boat; and it had been decreed 
that, in consequence, Betty must wear 
the old slat sun-bonnet or go with un- 
covered head. Betty had cheerfully 
consented at the time to this arrange- 
ment, having an antipathy to head cov- 
erings in general. A hat, though not so 
objectionable as the close bonnet, was 


Betty , a Butterfly . 43 

still a superfluous luxury, which she 
thought she could well do without ; yet 
here was an occasion when even she 
felt it to be an indispensable article of 
ones attire. 

But Betty was not at her wits’ end 
by any means. She brought out an old 
silk handkerchief which Bardy’s mother 
had given her, — a gay affair in its day, 
— and climbing up into a chair to look 
in the glass that hung over the tall 
chest, twisted it over her black curls. 

“ Indeed, it looks quite like a bonnet,” 
the little girl thought. 

It did not look in the least like a 
bonnet, but it was picturesque and be- 
coming. Her calico frock was as plain 
as Quaker ingenuity could devise, — low 
in the neck with a turn-down, unfashion- 
able collar, which showed Betty’s pretty 
brown throat. For decoration, she 


44 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


pinned a bunch of flowers at her waist, 
and taking a sun-umbrella, which she 
fancied lent dignity to her appearance, 
tripped gayly down the path. 

“ Why, where ’s thee going ? ” cried 
Rachel, who was staying at Miss Tuck- 
er’s for the day, and was naturally sur- 
prised at Betty’s festive attire. 

“ I am going to make a call,” an- 
swered Betty, from the gate, which she 
was now hastily unlatching. 

“ Don’t go there, dear child,” pleaded 
Rachel, who divined Betty’s purpose. 
“ Be prudent for once, and ask Aunt 
Nancy’s permission.” 

“ Rachel, dear, that is a hateful word 
of thine, — prudent. Thee uses it too 
often,” laughed the little girl, looking 
carelessly back over her shoulder. “ I 
am only doing as I would be done by, 
so don’t worry, dearest. It’s so lone- 


Betty , a Butterfly . 45 

some here for those two poor men, thee 
knows. Good-by, Rachel, I will tell 
thee all about the studio by and by.” 

So Betty went on, and Rachel stood 
for a moment on the porch to listen to 
the sweet careless song she was singing, 
as her fashion was when out by herself 
in the fields. Rachel wondered that it 
could be so free and untroubled ; but, 
indeed, Betty’s conscience was very 
peaceful. Aunt Nancy seldom inquired 
where she went, and never seemed to 
care. It was a beautiful day, and all 
Nature seemed in unison with her 
cheerful mood. “ When the world was 
so young and joyous what a pity it is,” 
the little girl thought, “ for one to be 
old and prudent.” 

When she had scrambled over the 
wall into the door-yard of what can still 
be called the Grey house, a great sur- 


46 Betty , a Butterfly . 

prise greeted her. Could it be that this 
was really a house in Rose County, 
she asked herself. A large awning had 
made its appearance over the front 
door, and beneath it swung a ham- 
mock. There was also a cushioned 
bench, a mandolin, — not that Betty 
knew it was a mandolin, — a table 
with books and papers on it, and a 
curious pitcher of something “ proba- 
bly nice.” 

“ It looks like a house on a picnic ; and 
that is the sort I like,” she thought. 

Bravely did Betty rap on the little 
green door she knew so well, but no 
one came to open it. It was not at all 
to her mind to go around to the back 
door where Susan Hardy, whom she 
had heard was working here, would no 
doubt let her in ; yet just that did fine 
Miss Betty have to do. Again she 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


47 


rapped in vain, until at length, turning 
away in despair, she heard the great 
barn-door roll back and saw a figure 
approaching her. 

It was the younger of the two young 
men she had come to see. He had a 
handsome face decorated with a blonde 
mustache. He was tall and graceful, 
too, and the velvet coat he wore was a 
garment which pleased the eye of his 
visitor. 

“ Thee is Mr. Grey, I think,” said 
Betty, stepping forward to meet 
him. “ I am thy neighbor, and have 
come to make thee a call. Aunt Nancy 
says she thinks thee must be lonesome 
here.” 

“ That ’s very thoughtful of you,” 
said the young man ; “ and, now you 
mention it, I don’t know but I am 
lonesome : at all events, I was all alone. 


48 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


I hope you won’t mind coming into the 
barn ; for I have my studio here, and I 
am hard at work just at present.” 

So they went in, and drawing forward 
a chair, he smilingly watched his visitor 
as she spread out her little skirts and 
sat down upon it. 

“ You can sit here and talk to me 
while I paint, you see,” he said pleas- 
antly, as he took up his palette. “ Do 
you make many calls, madam ? ” 

“Oh, no; only once in a long time. 
Last summer I made two calls ; one was 
on Mrs. Bell. You must know her, for 
she is the post-mistress.” 

“ Well, was it a pleasant call ? ” 

“ As long as it lasted ; but indeed it 
was not very long,” cried Betty, laugh- 
ing, and looking at him from the corner 
of her eyes. “ She drove me out, be- 
cause she said she was not going to 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


49 



“ You can sit here and talk to me while I paint.” 


have complaints made of children hang- 
ing around the place.” 

“Well, upon my word! Is that the 

4 



50 Betty , a Butterfly . 

usual method of receiving callers 
here ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” Betty answered ; “ I stayed 
two hours one day when I called on 
Bill Higgins.” 

“ To equalize things, I suppose.” 

“ No, not to equalize things, but to 
kill potato bugs. The horrid things 
were spoiling Bill’s garden. He used 
to be our hired man, but he lives by 
himself now in a dreadful little hut on 
the other side of the hill. I pity him, 
he is so poor and unfortunate, and his 
garden never is good for much. They 
say he ought to work more ; but it ’s bad 
enough to be poor without having to 
work too. Well, I killed ever so 
many bugs, and he played on his fiddle 
to me, and it was a right pleasant 
call.” 


Dear child,” laughed the young 


Betty , a Butterfly. 51 

man; “I see you have a charitable 
spirit, and go about doing good. You 
don’t know how grateful I am to 
you.” 

“ It was n’t altogether to be charitable 
that I came here,” Betty answered hon- 
estly. “ Thee must know this used to 
be our farm, and I was born here. I 
wanted to see what thee had done to 
change it.” 

“ What is your name, my dear ? ” 
asked her companion. 

“ I forgot to give thee my card,” cried 
Betty. “ Dear me, ’t is always so. Mrs. 
Bell sent me off before I could give one 
to her. And Bill can’t read, so it was 
of no use to give one to him.” 

While she chattered on, the child 
took a bit of pasteboard from her pocket 
which she now presented to Mr. Grey. 
On it was written in a child’s hand in 


52 Betty , a Butterfly. 

large scratchy letters, “ Miss Rachel 
Morse.” 

Having read the name, the young 
man looked with some perplexity at the 
little girl. 

“ Morse is not the name of the man 
of whom I bought this farm ; and, be- 
sides, he said that the house had 
not been occupied. Are you sure, 
Miss Rachel, that you were born 
here ? ” 

“ Why, my name is not Rachel the 
little girl broke out, in a very unreason- 
able tone of surprise. “ It is the name 
of a very nice person, though, and I 
did n’t mind borrowing it, for some- 
times she borrows things of me. It ’s a 
prettier name than mine, and Aunt 
Nancy says we must always put our 
best foot forward.” 

Her companion’s gay smile had dis- 


Betty , a Butterfly . 53 

appeared, and he looked earnestly at 
her as he asked once more, — 

“What is your name, child ? ” 

“ Well, it ’s Betty,” the little girl ad- 
mitted with a pout, “ and ugly enough, 
too.” 

“ And your other name, what is 
that?” 

“ Thee cannot complain of it,” was 
the laughing reply, “for ’t is the same 
as thy own, — Betty Grey, that is my 
name. There are very many of this 
name in Rose County ; but none of 
them are relations of mine. I have 
only one relation in the world, and he 
does not amount to much.” 

“ And your father’s name, Betty ? ” 

“ It was Silas, and he had two 
brothers,” went on Betty, glibly, giving 
the family history ; “ one died, and the 
other is the one I have been telling you 


54 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


about. He went to Europe. Aunt 
Nancy says that he left his country for 
his country’s good. She says she 
has n’t much opinion of him ; and yet,” 
went on Betty, “ although I have never 
seen him, I care for him very much. If 
he would only come home, how nice it 
would be \ I should do everything to 
please him, and he would probably 
like me. Does thee not think,” said 
Betty anxiously, “ that he would like 
me?” 

“ He would have little sense if he did 
not,” replied her companion, who had 
stopped painting and was watching her 
quite seriously, notwithstanding that an 
occasional smile twinkled in his hand- 
some eyes. 

“ Ah, that ’s the worst of it,” cried the 
little girl. “ I can’t be sure that he has 
much sense. People say that he has 


55 


Betty , a Biitterfly . 

not, which is rude and unkind when 
he is all the relation I have. They 
don’t realize, I suppose, what it is to 
have but one. Why, I can’t even say 
my prayers in the regular way, end- 
ing with ‘ Bless this one and that one,’ 
but have to be satisfied with just ‘ Bless 
my poor Uncle Richard, and make him 
amount to as much as thee can/ ” 

“My sweet little Betty,” began her 
companion. He seemed about to say 
something more, but got up instead, 
and walked up and down the floor. 
Then he drew his chair beside hers, 
and sitting down took her little brown 
hand in his. 

“ I knew your uncle in Paris very 
well, dear Betty, and you may take my 
word for it that he is not so disreputable 
as Aunt Nancy thinks. He is a painter, 
and works hard. Some day I hope 


56 Betty , a Butterfly. 

you will have reason to be proud of 
him." 

He had hardly concluded this very 
bewildering speech when the door 
opened, and Mr. Grey’s comrade came 
in. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


57 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE STUDIO. 

T)ETTY thought Mr. Lawton was not 
so handsome as her first acquaint- 
ance, but he had a pleasant smile and 
gentle voice, and, as the little girl after- 
wards found, a big heart which was full 
and brimming over with kindness. 

His friend called him John, and Betty, 
wishing to combine respect with so- 
ciability, always called him Mr. John. 
He devoted himself at once to her en- 
tertainment, showing her the odd and 
beautiful things in the studio, and ap- 
parently enjoying her remarks upon 
them. 

“Now this,” he said, “is something 


58 Betty , a Butterfly . 

we value very much. It ’s a very fine 
cast of the Venus de Milo.” 

“ The Venus de Milo,” repeated 
Betty, pensively. “ She looks some like 
Hannah Crocker. She is n’t a real lady, 
is she, and a friend of thine ? ” 

“ Not a very intimate one,” said Mr. 
John, reassuringly. “ You can say what 
you please of her without hurting our 
feelings.” 

“ Oh, I would n’t say anything about 
her? replied Betty, politely. “ I was 
thinking of Hannah Crocker. Some 
people say she is the homeliest girl in 
Rose County.” 

It had rapidly been growing dark, and 
now an ominous clap of thunder roused 
their visitor into saying, “ I have made 
thee a very long call, but I have never 
been in but one studio before. That is 
Mrs. Bard well Hill’s, but on account of 


Betty , a Butterfly. 59 

the bonnets, I suppose, it does n’t look 
as much like a studio as this does.” 

“ The bonnets,” echoed Mr. John, 
“ what bonnets ? ” 

“ Why, thee knows Mrs. Bardwell Hill 
is a milliner and an artist too, and the 
bonnets and the pictures are in the same 
room. She wants to give up the bon- 
nets,” Betty chattered on, “ but she says 
they are easier to sell than the pictures. 
Being an artist, of course she can make 
beautiful ones.” 

“ She brings her art into the millinery, 
I see,” said Mr. John. 

“ Perhaps she also brings the milli- 
nery into her art,” suggested Mr. Grey. 
But Betty could n’t answer for that, and 
prudently remained silent. 

By the time she was really ready to 
go a smart shower was falling, and the 
young men declared that she must 


60 Betty , a Butterfly . 

not think of going home until it was 
over. 

Betty was not a delicate child, and 
had been caught in more showers than 
she could count ; but she was glad of 
this excuse for delay. 

In answer to Mr. Grey’s inquiry she 
declared that Aunt Nancy would not be 
anxious about her. “ I am always gad- 
ding about, thee sees, so ’t is a wonder 
if she misses me at all ; and if she does, 
why she knows that when I am hungry 
I will be home again.” 

“ I will not have thee go home hun- 
gry,” said Mr. Grey. 

“ Oh, but thee said thee? cried Betty, 
excitedly, running up to the young 
man. “ Did thee not hear him say it, 
Mr. John ? ” 

“ It must be because it sounds so 
prettily from your lips, my little 


Betty , a Butterfly . 61 

Betty. But come now, we will have 
supper. I am going to make you an 
omelet.” 

“ Will thee really make it thyself ? ” 
asked Betty in surprise. 

Supper in a studio was a novelty to 
her, and with curiosity and delight she 
watched the preparations for it. 

On one side of the room was a large 
fireplace, in which a fire had been built. 
Upon the application of a match it 
sprang into a blaze, and soon the choco- 
late was sending forth its delicious fra- 
grance, making Betty feel very thirsty. 

Then from a little cupboard some 
dishes were brought out, and the table 
made ready. Betty was given the place 
of honor, one of her hosts keeping her 
company; while the other, seated on a 
pile of cushions by the fire, toasted 
apples and poured the chocolate. 


62 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


“ I did n’t know any people ever lived 
like this except in little girls’ plays,” she 
cried. “ I thought people always came 
regularly to the table, and were obliged 
to be just as stupid as they could. Now 
what would Aunt Nancy say to this, I 
wonder ? ” 

After supper they gathered around 
the fire and talked, and this was so 
pleasant that still the little girl did 
not go. 

At last the two men looked at each 
other and smiled, for their visitor was 
fast asleep. Betty had, it must be 
owned, a fashion of always making her- 
self at home, and she had stretched her- 
self out upon the cushions on the heavy 
rug with the pretty unconsciousness of 
a kitten. 

Presently Mr. Grey bent down over 
her, and having assured himself that she 



BETTY HAD A FASHION OF ALWAYS MAKING HERSELF AT HOME. 





































































































































































































♦ 











































Betty , a Butterfly. 


6 3 


was really asleep, leaned against the 
mantel-shelf, and said, “John, this little 
thing is my dead brother’s child.” 

His friend took his pipe from his 
mouth and gave a soft whistle. 

“Yes, I am sure of it. You see, at 
the death of the child’s mother, I was 
notified that the baby also was thought 
to be dying, and I took it for granted 
that she died, without making further 
inquiries. I remember I could think of 
nothing at that time but my studies at 
the beaux arts. Not that it was any ex- 
cuse for me. I do not wonder that Miss 
Tucker thinks Betty’s uncle' does not 
amount to much. Well, now I must 
provide for the child.” 

“ It will add considerably to your 
cares, Dick, but of course it naturally 
devolves upon you. It could not come 
at a better time than the present, for 


6 4 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


you can keep her here while we stay, 
and hardly feel any extra expense.” 

“You are a good fellow, John, — an 
awfully good fellow,” Betty’s uncle broke 
out. “ No other man I know would in 
your place agree to any such plan. I 
am afraid she will be a terrible nuisance 
to you.” 

“ No, no ; the constant presence of a 
little girl will have a very humanizing 
effect upon us. It will do you no harm, 
Richard, either, to feel that you have 
something else to live for beside the 
gratification of your ambition. As for 
me, I am fond of children, as you know, 
and Betty seems a sweet child.” 

They stooped quietly down and 
looked with much interest at their 
new charge. 

“ It is a mercy that she at least is a 
pretty one,” said the uncle. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 65 

“ Will she be happy with us ? ” asked 
his friend. “ A child seems to me like 
a flower, easily blighted.” 

“ Oh, Miss Betty is a right merry 
child,” was the careless answer. “You 
will not catch her moping.” 


5 


66 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


CHAPTER V. 

UNCLE RICHARD. 

jDETTY’S life had been a happy one, 
filled with such simple pleasures as 
mark the days of a wholesome and in- 
nocent childhood. No event more ex- 
citing than the discovery of the earliest 
spring flower, or the breaking through 
of a brood of fluffy chicks from the 
shell, seemed ever likely to take place. 
But unconsciously the little girl was 
now standing at the beginning of a very 
different life. 

It was a fresh, clear morning, and 
Betty was feedingcorn to Aunt Nancy’s 
poultry; flinging it in her perverse way 


Betty, a Butterfly. 


67 


always in a direction quite unexpected 
by the fowls. One would think the 
foolish things were too accustomed to 
Betty ever to be caught by surprise ; 
but, after all, wiser creatures than they 
did not understand the child. 

Everything was the same on this as 
on other less memorable mornings. 
The colts were frisking playfully in the 
pasture, and the sun slanted across the 
orchard in the usual pleasant way that 
pleased Betty and the robins, if the 
fowls were too greedy to notice it. 
Jerry, the farm boy, was whistling his 
favorite air as he cleaned out the stalls 
in the barn. This seemed but a repeti- 
tion of the usual busy day, but even at 
this very moment the tide of affairs was 
taking an unexpected turn. 

In the house Miss Tucker and Mr. 
Grey were holding an earnest conversa- 


68 Betty , a Butterfly. 

tion, and exciting events were to be the 
result of it. 

Betty, who had hoped for an oppor- 
tunity to see her fascinating friend, 
threw the corn on the ground and hur- 
ried to the house when called by Rachel, 
who, with many caresses which Betty 
felt to be very untimely, led her into the 
sitting-room. 

“ Betty,” said Miss Tucker, as the 
little girl came forward, “ thy Uncle 
Richard has at last been heard from.” 

“Yes,” said Betty, “ I know it; and 
he is not a lazy ne’er-do-well as thee 
thought, but a very famous painter.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” answered 
Aunt Nancy, with a twinkle in her gray 
eye, while the young man laughed 
outright. 

“Betty,” he said, “/ am your Uncle 
Richard.” 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


69 


“ Thee is joking,” cried Betty. 

“ No, it ’s a sad reality; and you must 
accept me for a relation even though I 
must be frank and confess that I am not 
famous at all.” 

“ I do not care whether thee is famous 
or infamous,” the little girl joyfully ex- 
claimed. “ It will be lovely to have a 
relation — a respectable relation, too ; for 
every one says that thee and Mr. John 
have turned out, after all, to be very re- 
spectable young men. Is n’t that so, 
Aunt Nancy ? ” 

“ Thee is a forward child, Betty. Sit 
down and let thy uncle have space to 
breathe. It seems that he wishes to 
take thee home with him, but I am 
loath to let thee go. Thee is quite 
sure, Richard, that thee can bring the 
child up to be such a woman as thy 
father’s granddaughter should be?” 


70 Betty , Butterfly . 

“ Oh, Aunt Nancy, nobody can do 
that” Betty expostulated in an anxious 
tone ; “ but he can do it as well as any 
one, for he is so clever. I wish thee had 
seen the beautiful pictures he paints.” 

Miss Tucker smiled rather grimly. 
“ Painting beautiful pictures is quite a 
different thing from bringing up chil- 
dren. But do not fret, child thee will 
go with him since he wishes it. I am 
glad to see that thy pleasure will not be 
spoiled by pain at leaving thy old home.” 

Betty looked curiously at Aunt Nancy. 
For a moment she wondered if it could 
really be that she cared that she — foolish 
Betty — was going away from her. No, 
she only cared that her farm products 
should fetch the highest price in the 
market, and that the house should be 
speckless from garret to cellar. She 
would not mourn for a useless child. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 71 

So thought Betty, at least, for she could 
never understand the undemonstrative 
affection of Aunt Nancy. 

“ I ought to wish to live with my re- 
lation, I think,” was her virtuous reply. 

But when Miss Tucker left the room, 
Betty’s exultant mood suddenly changed. 
For a moment she sat looking with 
troubled eyes at her new-found uncle, 
and then she impetuously burst out : 
“ Uncle Richard, did Aunt Nancy tell 
thee about me ? ” 

“ Tell me about you ? Why, not of 
anything in particular, Betty.” 

“I mean about — Well, did thee 
ask her to give me a character.” 

“ A character ? What do you mean, 
child?” 

“ Why, when Aunt Nancy thought of 
taking the girl from Dunham, she asked 
the people she lived with if they could 


7 2 


Betty , # Butterfly. 


give her a character. I thought perhaps 
in going to a new house ’t was the 
fashion to have one. If thee had asked 
Aunt Nancy to give me a character she 
could not have done it,” cried Betty 
with resolution, though blushing to the 
roots of her dusky locks. 

“ Dear me ! then you will steal our 
spoons, perhaps,” said Uncle Richard, 
with a laugh and a light kiss on Betty’s 
hot cheek. “ I shall have to keep my 
eye on you.” 

“ Oh,” cried Betty, “ now that is just 
what Aunt Nancy says, — that I am not 
to be trusted unless her eye is on me. 
It is true, so thee need not laugh, 
though that is only a joke about the 
spoons.” 

“ And you think it was Aunt Nancy’s 
duty to warn me ? ” 

“ I don’t think thee ought to be cheated. 


Betty , a Btitterjly . 73 

And how would I feel to have thee find 
out when it ’s too late what a good-for- 
nothing I am, and scold perhaps, and 
wish thee had never taken me away 
with thee.” 

“ Then you wish to acquaint me with 
all your vices before we go,” laughed 
her uncle. 

“ Well, perhaps not alt” replied Betty. 
“Aunt Nancy will be back before long, 
and she must not hear me. Besides, 
thee would expect me to have some , so I 
will only tell thee of the extra ones.” 

“ How many do you allow to each 
person ? If mine should exceed the 
proper number, I suppose I also am ex- 
pected to confess.’’ 

“ Indeed, thee has no vices at all. I 
am sure of it, unless it is that thee will 
joke when thee should be sober,” added 
Betty. “ Now thee must let me tell 


74 Betty , a Butterfly . 

thee. There is Rachel who said to me 
only this very morning that when I am 
grown I will be ashamed that I have not 
learned to be useful ; but, indeed, I am 
already ashamed. I could make thee 
such nice dishes if I only could cook, 
and if I had learned how to sew I might 
make thy shirts ; but I am so lazy, and 
have liked so much better to play in the 
fields or wade in the brooks than to 
learn to sew and to cook, that I can do 
nothing.” 

“ Well, well, Betty, I do not wish you 
to cook or to sew for me,” said her 
uncle, consolingly. “ I wish you to live 
out of doors as a little gypsy should, and 
then you will keep this lovely color in 
your cheeks,” and he tapped them gently 
with his white fingers, little thinking 
how deep his careless speech would sink 
into her heart. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


75 


But Betty was not yet at the end of 
her confessions. “ Uncle Richard,” she 
began again, after a pause, “ I am dull 
to learn from the books, too. Does 
thee mind that ? My spelling is very 
curious, Rachel says; and as for arith- 
metic, it makes me dizzy. There ’s the 
multiplication table, for instance. ’ T is 
a pity it ’s so fashionable,” said Betty 
with a sigh. “ If I ever can learn it at 
all, to say nothing of skipping about in 
it, ’t will be a wonder. I am truly afraid 
thee will be ashamed of me.” 

Had Aunt Nancy overheard these 
little confidences she would have been 
much surprised, for Betty had never 
been fond of making confessions. Her 
Uncle Richard, however, listened with 
amusement, little realizing the earnest- 
ness of her feeling. 

But Betty was,' for once in her giddy 


76 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


young life, quite serious. The idea 
that this splendid, new-found uncle, of 
whom she was already so fond and for 
whom she felt such admiration, should, 
as he discovered her faults, come to dis- 
approve of her as Miss Tucker and Ra- 
chel did, was very distressing. But now 
she had forestalled harrowing experien- 
ces of this sort. Although he knew the 
worst, he was not dismayed, and Betty’s 
unwonted seriousness faded away before 
she had fairly started for her new home. 

It was settled that the child’s belong- 
ings were to be sent to her by the milk- 
man who passed the Greys’ house every 
afternoon, and it was difficult for her to 
realize, as she set out across the fields 
with her uncle, that this differed very 
much from an ordinary walk. 

On arriving at the end of it, however, 
there was the tour of the house to be 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


77 


made. How strangely the old familiar 
rooms looked with their new furnishings ! 
Betty admired her uncle’s taste very 
much, looking upon him as a magician 
who had changed the commonplace old 
house into a scene of enchantment. 
There were the sitting-room, dining- 
room, and kitchen below, but the parlor 
had not been fitted up for use. Up- 
stairs there were four large chambers. 
The first of these, she knew the instant 
the door was opened, must belong to her 
uncle, for it had just his air of careless 
elegance. The second was a rather 
bare apartment, having only a bed, a 
couple of chairs, bathing apparatus, and 
some Indian clubs. A pair of Mr. 
John’s great muddy boots lay in the 
centre of the floor. 

“ This, Betty, is your room,” her 
uncle said as he turned the knob of the 


j8 Betty , a Butterfly. 

third door ; and being in haste to return 
to his work he left her to examine it by 
herself. 

He had long been gone before she 
took a step within. She stood with 
wide-open eyes upon the threshold, for 
never in all her simple life had she 
seen so dainty a nest. 

The floor had been painted, and was 
quite bare except for the silvery fur rug 
laid down by the white-curtained bed. 
Between the windows a dressing-table 
had been constructed, — a simple affair, 
with a glass in a frame of some dull 
light-blue cotton stuff, with silver 
bracket candlesticks on either side. 
There were a few chairs covered with 
the same stuff as the mirror-frame, and 
the valance around the washstand was 
of the same pretty material. But the 
chief beauty of the room, which claimed 


Betty , a Butterfly. 79 

Betty’s delighted attention, was the 
wonderful walls. 

These had been covered with strips 
of birch bark, and panelled off into 
different shaped sections by narrow 
strips of wood, and in each had been 
painted in soft, beautiful colors such 
pictures as little girls like. Here were 
Robin Hood and his merry men, and 
the poor little babes wandering in the 
wood. Yonder, on a branch of dusky 
pine which seemed to wave in its 
place over the washstand, was the 
very robin that befriended them. Here 
were valiant knights, and beautiful 
but piteous maidens waiting for their 
princes. 

“ The girl who lives in this room 
ought to be very nice” Betty thought, 
and she went over to the dressing-table 
and looked rather thoughtfully at the 


80 Betty , a Butterfly . 

reflection in the mirror of the real 
occupant. 

How shocked that “nice girl” would be 
at the frowzy head of little Betty ! She 
made an eager attempt to bring it into 
order, but this was not to be done in a 
moment. Then she reflected that 
gowns of Miss Tucker’s make were not 
exactly artistic. She had taken hitherto 
no more thought of her clothes than a 
little brown sparrow of his plumage, but 
now she began to be troubled at their 
plainness. How prim and ugly they 
must look to Uncle Richard, who was 
accustomed to seeing beautiful things 
about him ! 

There was a drawer in the dressing- 
table which Betty, having been toying 
with the handle, absently opened, and 
so gave herself another delightful sur- 
prise. Instead of its being empty, as 


Betty, a Butterfly. 81 

she had supposed, it was filled with 
various little fineries, such as frills and 
ribbons, dear to the heart of every little 
girl and the first of their kind ever 
possessed by Betty. She could hardly 
believe that they were really intended 
for her ; but they would not be very use- 
ful to her uncle or Mr. John, she re- 
flected, and there was no one else in the 
house but herself. 

Prompted by a sudden thought she 
now ran to the 'closet, and there, as she 
had half expected, hung some frocks in 
a gay row. She took them down one 
by one, admiring them, and laughing to 
think what Aunt Nancy would say to 
such fripperies. 

And then came a most exciting mo- 
ment, for you can guess what Betty did 
next. She took off the little plain frock 
she wore, and dressed herself in one of 


6 


82 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


these pretty new ones. Her eyes 
sparkling with delight, her cheeks like 
roses, what a little beauty the child was! 



Am I not fine? 


But Betty thought only of the dress. 
She wished for some one to share in her 
admiration of it, and accordingly tripped 
down into the sitting-room where Mr. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


83 


John was busily writing at the desk. 
Betty danced boldly in, spreading out 
her skirts and crying, — 

“Oh, look at me, Mr. John! Am I 
not fine ? ” 

“ You little popinjay,” laughed Mr. 
John, getting up and surveying her. 
“ Do you think I am going to pay com- 
pliments to a vain peacock like you ? ” 
but his eyes were more candid than his 
tongue, for they at once confessed his 
admiration. 

He spoke in jest, for he did not think 
her a vain peacock by any means, not 
even while he watched her pirouette 
about the room and look twenty times 
at herself in the mirror. He understood 
that the new dress liad simply pleased 
her taste for pretty things, and that 
beneath her childish gayety there beat 
a warm, honest heart. 


8 4 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


As if to confirm this thought, Betty 
came to his side and suddenly became 
serious. 

“Mr. John,” she began, “those are 
beautiful pictures Uncle Richard has 
painted for me. I wish I could do 
something to please him ” 

“ It will please him to know that 
you like them.” 

“Well, then, he can be easily pleased,” 
laughed Betty. “ Now here is some- 
thing I want to ask thee. Is Uncle 
Richard a famous painter? He said 
he was not, but he might have been 
joking. He is always joking, thee 
knows. I know thee will tell me 
truly.” 

“ I think he was not joking when he 
told you that, Betty.” 

“ Then he is not famous,” she cried 
in a disappointed tone. “ Well, which 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


85 


is the most famous, thee or Uncle Rich- 
ard. Now don’t be bashful, but tell me 
truly." 

She looked so serious and so implor- 
ing that Mr. John put his arm around 
her and answered her as soberly as he 
could. 

“ I have a good many years the start 
of your uncle, and I have worked very 
hard. So you will not mind hearing, 
my sweet Betty, that I have had 
some success. When he has worked 
as long as I have, I am sure he will 
have made a name that will rejoice 
your loving heart. He is full of talent 
and must succeed. Indeed, he has set 
his heart on it." 

“ Well, I have set mine on it, too," 
cried Betty. 

“ Have you, indeed, and why do you 
care so much ? " 


86 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


“ I don’t care for myself, but I want 
other people to admire him. There’s 
Jerry, for instance, — Aunt Nancy’s farm 
boy. Jerry says that Uncle Richard is 
of no account as an artist. He says 
that it was in the newspaper that thee 
is spending the summer up here, and 
there was n’t a word about him.” 

“ Well, I would not mind that,” said 
Mr. John in a soothing voice, but laugh- 
ing at Betty’s injured tone, nevertheless. 
“We will show him a piece in the news- 
paper yet that will make him change 
his mind. Yes, he shall eat humble pie 
to pay for this.” 

“ Pie of any kind is almost too good 
for him, so it must be very humble,” de- 
clared Betty. “ I would have them all 
eat humble pie if I could. That is, 
everybody except thee and me,” she * 
added amiably. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 87 

“ Would you not except that pretty 
girl that seems so fond of you ? ” 

“ Rachel ? Indeed, no ! Why, she 
will not even say that he is handsome. 
The idea of that, now ! She will have 
it that thee has the handsomer face of 
the two; at least, ’t is more to her liking. 
’T was a rude thing to say, though in- 
deed we did not know when she said 
it that he was my uncle. And Aunt 
Nancy, when- I praise him, screws up 
her mouth and will have nothing to 
say. They should each eat humble 
pie in plenty if I had my way.” 

“ I suspect it would not be easy to 
make Miss Tucker swallow much of 
it,” laughed Mr. John. “ Betty, do you 
not care more for this old friend than 
for your uncle ? ” 

Betty, with a disdainful smile, turned 
around from the desk where she 


88 Betty , a Butterfly. 

had been scribbling with Mr. John’s 
pen. 

“ Does thee think, then, I could care 
for her as for my uncle? Indeed I do 
not.” 

“ But think, Betty, you have lived 
with her all your life, while your uncle, 
good and kind to you though he is, is 
almost a stranger.” 

“ Indeed he is not a stranger. It is 
cruel to say so. He is my own uncle, 
and the only relation I have. I have 
always been fond of him, so he cannot 
be a stranger.'’ She was so distressed 
that Mr. John could not urge the point, 
but contented himself with saying, — 

“ Miss Tucker has been as a mother 
to you, Betty, you must always remem- 
ber that.” 

“ I will,” said the little girl, rather 
soberly. “ I know she has been good 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


89 


to me, but she does not care for me at 
all ; or if she does, as Rachel insists, 
why does she never tell me so ? ’T is a 
queer kind of love, I think, that is so 
sparing of soft words and kisses. ’T is 
not my uncle’s kind, I know. Already 
he has kissed me a dozen times, and 
that proves that he loves me twelve 
times as much as Aunt Nancy, who 
does not kiss me at all.” 

And with this bit of logic Betty smiled 
triumphantly at Mr. John, and left him. 

The rest of the morning she spent 
under an old apple-tree on the slope of 
the hill. It was quite unlike the apple- 
trees in the orchard, for instead of 
branching out in the irregular style of 
its family it had grown up in a tall, 
stately fashion, and it seemed to Betty 
that it did not wish to be an apple-tree. 
She had therefore invented a name for 


90 Betty , a Butterfly . 

it, and called it the “ high-and-mighty 
tree,” which suited it well. 

Very sedately she seated herself in 
its shade, — fine clothes bring respon- 
sibilities, and she could not run about 
among briars and brambles. From her 
position she had a view of the studio 
where her uncle was at work ; but 
although she wished him to see her 
in her pretty new dress, she would not 
disturb him. So she sat and waited, 
longing for a sign from him that she 
would be welcome. 

At last the door of the studio being 
opened, she ran in ; when her uncle, giv- 
ing her another kiss, declared she was 
as lovely as a rose. As she walked 
with him to the house she looked 
anxiously into his face, until, noticing 
her wistful look, he begged her to tell 
him what was in her mind. 


Betty , a Btitterfly. 91 

“Dear Uncle Richard,” the little girl 
then said, “ I wish thee would tell me 
of something I can do to please thee.” 

“You will always please me, my 
sweet Betty, while your eyes are so 
bright and such a charming color 
blooms in your cheeks ; ” nor to any 
such inquiry would he make a more 
serious reply. 

At dinner they placed the little girl 
at the head of the table, calling her 
the mistress, which title delighted her. 
Sitting there in her dainty gown, pre- 
siding with all her charming smiles 
and graces, Betty wondered if indeed 
she could be the same child that had 
fed Miss Tucker’s fowls that very 
morning. 


92 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


CHAPTER VI. 

SURPRISES. 

LTHOUGH Rachel had seen 



nothing of Betty since the day 
she left Aunt Nancy’s, she had been 
constantly in her mind. Miss Tucker 
was decidedly of the opinion that the 
young painter was not the person to 
bring up their gay Betty, for she feared 
he would spoil her with indulgence. 

This fear she had expressed to Rachel, 
who was so distressed by it, that, after a 
week had passed by, she determined to 
go and see for herself how it fared with 
the dear child. 

Just beyond Miss Tucker’s farm stood 
a large white house, pleasantly enshad- 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


93 


owed by two ancient elms. This was 
Rachel’s home, which she made cheerful 
and comfortable for her father and her 
brother Thomas. 

It was not very far from here to the 
Grey house ; but Rachel harnessed her 
father’s old white horse and set out in 
the buggy, thinking the little girl would 
easily be induced to go with her for a 
drive. Half an hour previous she had 
seen the two young men pass down the 
road to the village, and she rightly con- 
jectured that Miss Betty would be at 
home by herself. 

Susan Hardy, who opened the door in 
answer to Rachel’s rap, said that Betty 
was in the woodshed ; and finding her 
way thither Rachel came upon a strange 
scene, for there was Betty on her knees, 
and before her was a long row of men’s 
shoes. All varieties of the article were 


94 Betty , .a Butterfly . 

represented, from a pair of great leather 
top-boots to some dapper ties. But, 
however they may have differed in 
shape, they resembled one another in at 
least one particular, — they were all 
sadly in need of blacking. 

Betty had a blacking-brush in one 
hand and a very muddy shoe in the 
other; but she welcomed Rachel warmly, 
holding up her cheek for a kiss, and 
begging her to sit down upon the 
saw-horse. 

“ Thee sees I have a lot of work to 
do before Uncle Richard comes home. 
Did thee ever see such a sight, Rachel ? 
I did n’t mean to do but just the 
one pair, but now I think I ’ll black 
them all.” 

“ Oh, then thee does not have to 
do them,” said Rachel with relief, 
for she had jumped at the conclusion 


Betty , a Butterfly . 95 

that this was one of Betty’s regular 
tasks. 

“ Of course not,” cried Betty, cheer- 
fully. “ It ’s going to be a surprise. 
Uncle Richard is fond of surprises, I 
think. Thee should see what beautiful 
ones he plans for me. A whole room 
full of pictures painted just for my 
pleasure ; what does thee say to that, 
Rachel ? At one time it will be a store 
of new dresses, at another a book or 
some trinket from New York. Is it not 
generous of him ? And I could think 
of nothing, of nothing at all, to do to 
please him, until at last I thought of 
this plan. I promise thee I will make 
these boots of his shine. It will be a 
surprise, though not of a pretty sort ; 
but that I cannot help.” 

“ I dare say he won’t mind about 
that,” said Rachel, privately wondering 


g6 Betty , a Butterfly. 

if he would appreciate what a mark of 
Betty’s affection was the performance of' 
this humble duty. 

“ No, I don’t believe he will,” the 
little girl smilingly rejoined. “ He will 
be so glad to have it done. Bill Hig- 
gins promised to come and do such 
things ; but indeed he is never here, and 
the boots have been collecting and col- 
lecting, and every day Uncle Richard 
says he is going to do it himself. Yes, 
he will certainly think it is a fine sur- 
prise. At first, I only meant to do 
these,” went on Betty, bringing forward 
each pair as if to introduce them as she 
spoke. “ And then I thought I would 
take these walking shoes too, and then 
these old dumpers. I did n’t mean to 
do Mr. John’s, for he is not my relation, 
but I was afraid he would be hurt if I 
showed so much partiality. Don’t you 


Betty , a Butterfly. 97 

think he would ? And so I went into 
his room and got these dreadful muddy 
boots that have been lying there ever 
since I came. I found these other 
shoes too, and I mean to black them all. 
Mr. John is so good : though of course 
not so good as Uncle Richard ; but then 
no one can be like him.” 

“ Thee loves him so much already ? ” 
said Rachel. “ I am glad of that, dear.” 

“ Thee need n’t be too pleased. It ’s 
very uncomfortable to love any one over 
much,” laughed Betty. “ It really makes 
me ache sometimes, and I doubt if it ’s 
healthy, indeed I do.” 

With this work on hand Betty thought 
it impossible to spare time for a drive, 
so after a short call Rachel took leave. 

That the pleasure-loving child should 
have refused such an invitation to per- 
form a disagreeable task was certainly a 
7 


9 8 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


very remarkable thing, the like of which 
had never happened in past days, when 
it was seldom enough that, unless com- 
pelled, she would perform a disagreeable 
task at all. Her friend took heart from 
it, and hoped that her love for her 
uncle would bring out the good quali- 
ties which Rachel always felt sure were 
hidden under her gay carelessness. 

She wondered what Aunt Nancy 
would say to the tale of idle Betty set- 
ing herself such a task. The thought 
of her astonishment was enough to in- 
duce her to stop at Miss Tucker’s door 
and run in for a confab with her old 
friend. 

The object thereof was still hard at 
work. Absolute perfection was Betty’s 
aim, especially with the smaller-sized 
shoes; but indeed Mr. John would 
have no cause for complaint When 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


99 


the very last one of the long row that 
had so amused Rachel was finished, the 
child sat down and rested her arms, 
while she admired the shining monu- 
ments of her patience. 

“Yes, it will be a splendid surprise/' 
she thought. “ Bill Higgins himself 
could n’t have made them look nicer.” 

She wondered where they would 
soonest attract their owner’s attention, 
and finally carried them to the studio, 
where on their return the young men 
would be sure to go first. 

On one side of the room was a shelf 
on which had been placed that very 
morning some rare specimens of bric-a- 
brac much valued by her uncle. Betty 
took them down with great care, and in 
their places arranged the shoes in a 
shining row. 

Here they showed to great advantage, 


IOO 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


and Betty was so pleased with the 
effect that she was still looking with 
admiration at them when she was 
suddenly startled t>y the sound of 
men’s voices. 

It was no doubt time for her uncle 
and Mr. John to return, and with an 
impulse to conceal herself she darted 
behind a screen, for she wished to hear 
what they would say uninfluenced by 
her presence. 

Suddenly, her face assumed a look of 
sobered surprise, for she realized that 
there were three men instead of two, 
and one of them a stranger. Moreover, 
he was being led with great politeness to 
this very corner of the studio, and her 
uncle was saying in a voice of pride, — 

“ The box came yesterday, and there 
are some dainty little things here which 
I think you will like.” 


Betty , a Butterfly . ioi 

The gentleman was looking with 
some astonishment at the shelf, when 
out from behind the screen came Miss 
Betty, exclaiming, — 

“ Oh, these are not the dainty little 
things. They are nothing but shoes, 
and big enough, too, I ’m sure.” 

“ Mr. King, this is my niece,” said 
Uncle Richard, rather shortly. He 
stood twirling his mustache without 
looking at Betty, whose heart beat fast 
with the thought that she had vexed 
him. He was probably ashamed of 
her; and conscious of her soiled dress 
and grimy hands, she crept silently 
away. Mr. John was standing in the 
doorway shaking with laughter, for he 
knew how his comrade prided himself 
on his bric-a-brac, and he could not get 
over the disgusted expression on the 
face of Mr. King. But, although he 


102 Betty , a Butterfly. 

enjoyed the joke, he was very good 
to poor Betty, leading her away from 
the studio to the shelter of the “ high- 
and-mighty tree,” where he bade her 
cry if she wished, declaring he would 
never tell of it. 

But though really plunged in woe, 
Betty had no notion of crying. 

“ The more thee cries the more thee 
may,” she said wisely, “ and it won’t do 
any good. But oh, Mr. John, I thought 
he would be pleased to find I can do 
something useful, and I had made the 
boots look so nice. And how was I to 
know when I placed them on the shelf, 
what would happen? It was more of a 
surprise than I intended. No one but 
thee liked the joke.” 

“ Mr. King is far too elegant to care 
for jokes, dear Betty, and we could n’t 
expect your Uncle Richard to enjoy it 


Betty , a Butterfly. 103 

very much. No matter, he will soon 
forget it ; and, since you are so deter- 
mined to be useful, there is a way for 
you to do us a real service. As for the 
boots, I thank you heartily for doing 
mine. It s a wonder such a child could 
do them so well.” 

“ Rachel said she thought thee both 
would be pleased,” said Betty, somewhat 
cheered at this praise. “ She did not 
think any harm would come of it.” 

“ Has Rachel been here ? ” 

“Yes, she came and invited me to 
drive, but I would not go.” 

“ Dear little girl ! ” he exclaimed. He 
stroked her dusky curls, realizing that 
she had denied herself this pleasure in 
her desire to please her uncle and 
himself. 

The odious Mr. King, as Betty called 
that unoffending gentleman, refused the 


104 Betty , a Butterfly. 

invitation extended to him to lunch at 
the Grey house, and only the usual 
party of three gathered round the 
table. 

Betty had felt a little shy about meet- 
ing her uncle so soon after the mortify- 
ing episode in the studio, but he had 
apparently forgotten it, being in the 
best of spirits and speaking to her in his 
usual pleasant way. 

Ever since Mr. John had left her 
under the “ high-and-mighty tree ” she 
had been wondering what it could be 
that she was to do to help them, and 
now she asked to have her curiosity 
gratified. 

It was immediately explained to her 
that in painting a figure artists employ 
a model, and that the service they were 
to ask of her was to pose for them each 
day. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 105 

As she listened, Betty blushed with 
pleasure. “ To think thee would care 
to put me in a picture,” she cried. “ Oh, 
yes ; I will pose for thee as often as thee 
likes.” 

She was sorry that her services were 
not to be required that very day. She 
seemed to look forward to the duty with 
such feverish impatience and joyful 
anticipation that her uncle and Mr. John 
laughed in private, thinking how soon 
she would tire of the wearisome task. 


io6 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


CHAPTER VII. 

BEING A MODEL. 

TT was a fair June day, and the hills 
of Rose County were basking in 
broad sunshine. The shadows cast by 
the ragged cedars were dark and sharp, 
and the air was full of spicy odors. It 
was such a day as Betty loved, yet the 
figure of the little girl was not to be 
seen in any of her favorite haunts. 

The restless little damsel was stand- 
ing on a dais in the studio as a model, 
while her uncle painted away in a si- 
lence broken only by occasional excla- 
mations of dismay. It was Betty’s 
intention to move neither hand nor 


Betty , a Butterfly . 107 

foot, but it was as hard for her to re- 
strain her impulse for movement as it 
would be for the robin who seemed to 
be calling her out into the pleasant 
sunshine. 

Many mornings she had spent thus, 
so that now the charm of novelty had 
been stripped from the task, leaving 
only her desire to be of use to recon- 
cile her to it. 

Presently Uncle Richard flung down 
his brushes. 

“ I shall not work any more to-day. 
It is of no use while you are so restless.” 

“Restless! Why, Uncle Richard,” 
cried Betty, reproachfully, “ I am keep- 
ing as quiet as that stupid old Venus on 
the shelf.” 

“ I don’t ask that of you, child ; but 
do try not to dance. A moment ago 
you were absolutely dancing. But no. 


108 Betty , a Butterfly. 

on the whole, I think I will let you 
off.” 

“No, don’t let me off!” cried Betty. 
“ It was horrid of me to dance, but 
thee knows it was but a step or two.” 
She turned a pirouette upon the dais, 
and then resuming her former position 
cried entreatingly, “ Go on, Uncle Rich- 
ard ; thee must not stop painting because 
of me. Thee will have no more cause 
to complain of my moving, I can tell 
thee.” 

He was beguiled by her penitence 
into taking up his brushes once more. 
And now she was so quiet and patient, 
and threw so much spirit into the pose, 
that he worked on delightedly. At first, 
in her effort to please him, she hardly 
dared breathe. Would she not gladly 
do as much as this and more to show 
her love for him ? Her feet twitched, 


Betty , a Butterfly . 109 

her neck was strained, she felt alto- 
gether cramped and uncomfortable ; but 
she was determined to bear these dis- 
agreeable feelings without complaint, 
and, above all, not to move. Yet, while 
she was making this very resolution, 
suddenly her uncle put down his palette 
with a groan. 

“ Oh, I did not mean to stir,” cried 
Betty, while the tears rushed to her eyes. 
“ Indeed it will not be so again.” 

“ I will not paint any more,” said her 
uncle, frowning a little but speaking 
pleasantly all the same. “ You posed as 
well as you could, no doubt.” 

“No, I could do better,” was the 
earnest reply. “ Try me once more, 
Uncle Richard, and thee will see.” 

But to this Uncle Richard would not 
agree. 

Betty jumped down from the dais, de- 


I IO 


Betty , a Butterfly. 

lighted to be released, but pricked by 
horrid thoughts of her own unworthi- 
ness. She stood beside her uncle and 
watched him clean off his palette, and 
reproached herself until he bade her be 
off and enjoy herself. 

“ Thee will do better another time,” 
he said kindly, with a look at her rueful 
face, and using the Quaker speech, as he 
often did to her. “ Go into the fields, 
child, and dance to thy heart’s content.” 
And Betty ran away, little realizing his 
disappointment. 

Mr. John had gone out that morning 
to sketch, and Betty wandered about in 
search of him. He had declared that 
he could as soon paint a butterfly with 
a pin through it as Betty fluttering at 
her post on the dais. 

“You are too tender-hearted,” Mr. 
Richard had answered. “ Betty runs 


Betty , a Butterfly. 1 1 1 

about all day, and to keep still a couple 
of hours now and then won’t hurt her.” 

And this was undoubtedly true. 

Betty found him sitting at his easel 
on the side of the hill, and uncon- 
sciously sat down on a rock directly in 
his range of vision ; but Mr. John went 
on with his sketch quite undisturbed, 
while he patiently listened to the little 
girl’s troubles. 

“ It is a pity you find it so hard to 
keep still, because if you wish so much 
that your uncle should be famous, you 
ought to be glad to help him,” he re- 
minded her. 

“ Oh, thee says that just to please me. 
Thee knows I am too stupid to help 
him ! ” cried Betty. 

“ Indeed what I said is quite true. It 
depends a great deal upon you whether 
the picture is a success. Unless you 


1 1 2 Betty , a Butterfly. 

do your part he can make nothing 
of it.” 

“ I will do my part,” cried Betty with 
enthusiasm ; “ for I do want to help him. 
The next time I have to pose I will try 
and think of that instead of how my 
feet twitch and my neck aches. Is it 
going to be a good picture ? ” 

The little girl asked the question so 
seriously that Mr. John forbore to tease 
her, but replied earnestly, — 

“ I think it is going to be very beauti- 
ful. He has caught just the graceful 
spring of the figure which is not easy 
to do. In my opinion it ’s the best thing 
he has ever painted.” 

“ And I am in it,” cried Betty ; “ I 
shall have helped! I shall have done 
something useful for once, and Aunt 
Nancy and Rachel will surely faint 
when they hear of it ! ” 


Betty , a Butterfly. 1 1 3 

“ Yes, provided all goes well. But 
there is much work to be done yet.” 

“ I am sure of that,” replied Betty, 
who took this remark to herself ; “ but 
I won’t spoil it, Mr. John, I promise 
thee. Now what will he do with the 
picture when it is finished ? ” 

“ I think in the autumn he will send 
it to the exhibition, where it will be so 
admired, I hope, that it will bring him a 
great many orders.” 

“ Oh,” said Betty, in delight, “ then 
he will be rich, and he will owe it to me. 
I know I can stand still to-morrow.” 

She seemed about to come down 
from the rock, but stopped to listen to 
Mr. John’s suggestion that there might 
be a great many flattering notices of the 
picture, which would be good reading 
for Jerry. He even described how 
these would read, inserting such lavish 
8 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


114 

praise that for as much as five minutes 
Betty remained in the same pretty atti- 
tude of earnest attention. 



“ For as much as five minutes Betty remained in the same 
pretty attitude of earnest attention.” 


“ Thee is the very nicest person that 
I know,” she cried at last, in her bright, 


Betty , a Butterfly . 1 1 5 

eager way, as she jumped from the rock 
and came smiling towards him, “ except, 
of course, Uncle Richard ; ” and then she 
suddenly burst out, “ Why, thee wicked 
Mr. John, thee has painted me right in 
thy sketch.” 

Sure enough, there was Betty, her 
white dress flashing in the sunshine 
against the dark cedars. 

“ If thee does not get near enough to 
see it, it looks just like me,” she added 
critically. “ Thee is right clever, I 
declare.” 

“ One must paint you on the wing, 
little witch,” said Mr. John ; “ but I ’ve 
caught you for once.” 

“ Thee expects me to make thee fa- 
mous, too, I suppose,” said Betty, look- 
ing archly at him. “ I declare I shall 
have plenty of work to do.” 

This conversation helped to make 


1 1 6 Betty , a Butterfly. 

her task lighter. Day after day she 
stood at her post, almost holding her 
breath lest she should stir and spoil 
the picture. When the strain seemed 
unbearable, she would whisper to 
herself, — 

“ I am helping Uncle Richard to be 
rich and famous.” 

One day her uncle asked, — 

“ Betty, what is it you keep repeat- 
ing to yourself ? I have n’t the slightest 
objection to it, but I am curious.” 

Betty blushed, and Mr. John, who 
happened to be present, with his quick 
sympathies divined how Betty felt, and 
answered for her. 

“ It’s a charm, Dick; and you must 
not speak, or you will break it. It’s a 
charm to keep her quiet ; is n’t that it, 
Betty ? ” 

Although it was always upon the 


Betty , a Butterfly. 1 1 7 

point of it, it seemed as if the picture 
would never be finished. Betty was 
always willing to sit “just one hour 
more,” or “ just two hours more,” and 
Uncle Richard was so absorbed in his 
work that often the whole morning 
passed before she was released, unless 
indeed, as sometimes happened, Mr. 
John came in and begged her off. 

The picture was truly very beautiful, 
and Betty longed for every one to see 
it. But this could not be yet, Rachel 
being the only person to whom the 
privilege had been accorded. 

Rachel confessed that she knew no- 
thing of art, but thought it was very 
wonderful how the artist had caught the 
life and motion of Betty’s little figure 
and the glowing beauty of her face. 
With Mr. John to point out its fine 
qualities, even Rachel, in her mild way, 


n8 Betty , a Butterfly. 

became enthusiastic, and rejoiced Betty’s 
heart by declaring that Rose County 
should be proud of the artist. 

“ One more sitting, my sweet mis- 
tress Betty,” said her uncle one day, 
“ and the picture will be absolutely 
finished.” 

“ To-morrow will be the day of the 
picnic,” said Mr. John, firmly; “Betty 
can’t pose to-morrow.” 

“ Picnic ? What picnic ? It seems 
to me I did hear something about one, 
too. So it ’s to be to-morrow, and Betty 
wants to go ? ” 

There was a tinge of disappointment 
in his voice that Uncle Richard was un- 
conscious of, but which the little girl 
noticed. 

For a long time her heart had been 
set upon this picnic ; but she wondered 
now if she should enjoy it very much, 


Betty , a Butterfly. 1 1 9 

feeling that her Uncle Richard needed 
her. 

“ I don’t think I want to go, after all,” 
she said, blushing like a rose under the 
eye of Mr. John, to whom she remem- 
bered having confided her pleasant an- 
ticipations of the fete. 

“ She had better go,” insisted Mr. 
John. “ I would n’t let her pose again 
to-morrow, Dick.” 

But Betty insisted that she wished to 
pose and that she did not wish to go to 
the picnic; therefore Mr. John, though 
sorely against his will, was silenced. 

As, upon the morning of the picnic, 
she took her usual station in the studio, 
her face was so sweet, her air so cheery 
and gracious, that it was difficult to be- 
lieve she was not consulting her own 
personal pleasure. When the sitting 
was over, and there was still “just one 


120 Betty , a Butterfly. 

hour more ” to look forward to, she ex- 
pressed her willingness to return to her 
task on the morrow; but this generous 
offer was not accepted, for her Uncle 
Richard was then to have a new 
sitter. 

It interested Betty to hear that this 
was the little daughter of Mr. King, who 
had brought his family to the hotel. 
The portrait was an order, and she was 
so pleased by it as to become reconciled 
to this gentleman. 

His daughter, little Rosamond, was a 
lovely child, with the fairest skin in the 
world and pretty yellow hair. She had 
a thoughtful and quiet air, and was in 
every way as different as possible from 
our frolicsome Betty. 

Uncle Richard was pleased with his 
new model, who posed well, being by 
nature patient and gentle. After the 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


12 1 


first mornings work he praised her so 
much that Betty was jealous. 

“ It would astonish thee, child,” he 
said, “ to see any one sit so still.” 

“ The little girl is a bit puny, Dick,” 
said Mr. John, stroking Betty’s round 
cheek. “ Children should be like the 
birds and flowers, and never give a 
hint of weariness. I confess those 
who are strong and active please me 
best.” 

“And did you notice her color?” 
Uncle Richard went on; “her face is 
like a pearl. I never saw such flesh. 
It is perfectly luminous.” 

Betty ran off rather than listen to the 
little girl’s praises. 

“ ’T is good-by to comfort when thee 
loves any one,” she grumbled to herself, 
as she vainly tried to summon back her 
old careless spirit. “ Now, why have I 


122 Betty , a Butterfly . 

not a fair skin and yellow curls to please 
Uncle Richard ? ” 

It seemed to her that with all the 
sacrifices she had made during the 
summer she had not won such approval 
as had this little white-faced girl, who 
could not by any possibility care as she 
did for his favor. 

That afternoon, as Rachel sat sewing 
by her pleasant window, she had an un- 
expected call from Betty. 

The little girl sat down and talked 
for a few minutes in her usual fashion, 
and then, stopping abruptly, said, — 

“ Rachel, did thee ever know of a 
brown skin changing into a fair one ? ” 

“ A brown skin changing into a fair 
one ? ” repeated Rachel, much mysti- 
fied. “What does thee mean, child ? ” 

“ Why, just what I say. A brown 
skin, — mine, for instance.” 


Betty , a Butterfly. 123 

“ Well,” answered Rachel, “ I should 
not think it very likely to happen.” 

“ But if the brown is all tan , Rachel, 
it might happen then ? ” 

“ I don’t believe it is all tan, dear 
child. Thee was brown even as a 
baby. When thee was a wee little 
baby, Betty, thee was a sort of orange 
color. I remember well that thy nurse 
told me that orange-colored babies be- 
come brunettes, and the red babies 
blondes.” 

“Oh, what a frightful crimson that 
horrid Rosamond King must have 
been ! ” muttered Betty ; and then aloud, 
“ Well, Rachel, does thee know what 
luminous means ? ” 

“ Luminous ? Why, shining — clear, 
I suppose.” 

“ Then luminous skin means shining 
skin, and that is the right kind. Rachel, 


124 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


dear,” Betty went on, in the most im- 
ploring and anxious tone, “ tell me, is 
my skin luminous ? ” 

“ I really don’t know, dear. What 
does it matter ? " 

“ Oh, it does matter. I want luminous 
skin. It matters more than thee thinks. 
Oh, I want to look like a pearl.” 

Rachel laughed. “ I fear, Betty, thee 
is thinking too much of thy looks. 
These pretty dresses thy uncle has 
given thee have turned thy head. It 
would be better to wear the plainest 
clothes than to grow up vain and frivo- 
lous. But thee will never be that, I 
know. Thee cares more than is rea- 
sonable for beauty ; but thee cares still 
more to be good, does thee not ? ” 

“ I don’t care anything for it at all,” 
answered Betty, with a careless laugh 
which covered her disappointment. She 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


I2 5 


felt cross enough to enjoy grieving her 
gentle friend, and went on mockingly, 
“ Thee knows that any one can be 
good. I do wish it were as easy to be 
beautiful.” 

“ Betty, Betty ! thee does not mean 
what thee says, dear. Beauty is of little 
importance, so think no more of it.” 

“ But, Rachel, it is important to me,” 
Betty broke in earnestly once more. 
“ Uncle Richard likes only what is 
beautiful. He can’t help that, and so 
thee sees that to have him care for me 
I must be beautiful.” 

“ Perhaps he only likes to paint beauti- 
ful objects ; but every one must love 
goodness. Besides, such virtues as un- 
selfishness and patience and humility 
will make those who practise them seem 
beautiful, though I would not have thee 
cultivate them for this reason.” 


126 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


Betty got up, and, looking in the 
mirror over the bureau, laughed gayly. 

“ I wonder, Rachel, which virtue will 
make this horrid big mouth of mine 
small and pretty, and which will turn 
my brown skin fair ? ” 

“ Foolish child, thee knows I did not 
mean that.” 

“ No, thee means that it is of no use 
for me to think of looks,” said Betty 
with a sigh ; “ because I will always be 
black and ugly.” 

She was so distressed that the tears 
stood in her eyes, and Rachel’s heart 
ached to comfort her. To her thinking 
a prettier face than Betty’s was not to 
be seen in Rose County. 

“ Thee looks well enough, dear, — a 
right wholesome color thee has ; and 
there are plenty of people partial to 
brown skins if thy uncle is not.” 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


1 27 


But this was no comfort to Betty. 

“I don’t care for thy ‘ plenty of people,’ ” 
she said with a pout : “ I care only for 
Uncle Richard; and as for being good, 
I believe I am plenty good enough now 
to please him, for he does not care as 
thee does that I should be perfection.” 

“ Ask him,” suggested Rachel ; “ I 
am sure he will tell thee otherwise.” 

To this Betty assented, promising 
that if he wished it she would be as 
good as Rachel herself. And her friend 
kissed her good-by, with the comfort- 
ing reflection that in a heart so full of 
love for another there can be little room 
for vanity. 


128 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ROSAMOND. 

JT^ITTLE Rosamond King came two 
or three times every week to the 
studio. She evinced a great deal of in- 
terest in Mr. Greys niece, but for some 
time Betty managed to avoid her. One 
day, unluckily, she was in the studio 
when Rosamond arrived, and of course 
there was no escape. 

Betty had little liking for Rosamond, 
and her usually pretty manners were so 
ungracious that her uncle for the first 
time found fault with her. 

“ Why were you so rude ? ” he asked. 
“ Rosamond did nothing to provoke 
you ? ” 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


129 


“It provokes me to have her come at 
all,” cried the unreasonable child ; “ and 
it seems as if she sat so still just for 
nothing but to torment me. When 1 
see her sitting up there so prim, I long 
to fling something at her and make her 
hop.” 

“You bad child!” exclaimed Uncle 
Richard, looking rather serious but 
pinching Betty’s cheek. “ These are 
very unbecoming sentiments in a young 
Friend, and remind me of Aunt Nancy’s 
speech when I took you away from her. 
Do you remember what it was ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Betty; “she said 
thee was to make me just the sort of 
person my grandfather would approve 
of ; but I told her it could n’t be done, so 
that was settled. Thee need not think 
any more of it. And, Uncle Richard,” 
went on Betty, remembering for the first 
9 


130 Betty, a Butterfly . 

time her promise to Rachel, “ thee does 
not care that I should be good ? ” 

“ Thee has a queer opinion of me, 
Betty,” he answered her. “ But thee is 
wrong, dear. I would have thee every- 
thing that is lovable.” 

Betty’s eyes opened. She could 
hardly believe she had heard aright ; yet 
there was no mistaking the seriousness 
with which he spoke. 

“ How could I know that he wished 
it when he is always joking,” she thought. 
“ Well, now I do know it I will be as 
good as possible. I will even be polite 
to Rosamond.” 

The season was now at its height, and 
the hotel was crowded with guests. 
There were few objects of interest 
among the beautiful hills of Rose County 
beyond the scenery, and the studio at- 
tracted many visitors. Rosamond told 


Betty , a Butterfly. 13 1 

Betty that her uncle was “ all the rage ” 
among the young ladies, and all of them 
were talking of having their portraits 
painted. 

Although these orders did not flow in 
very rapidly, invitations did. They 
took Uncle Richard and Mr. John con- 
stantly from home, and many evenings 
in consequence Betty spent with Mrs. 
Susan, who was cajoled upon these oc- 
casions to keep the child company. It 
is not to be supposed that Betty rel- 
ished this state of things very much, 
but she tried to be unselfish and not 
complain, and at last she had her 
reward. 

One day Rosamond told her that some 
tableaux were soon to be given which 
were sure to be very fine, for her uncle 
had promised to arrange them. 

“ I suppose thee will see them,” Betty 


132 Betty, a Butterfly . 

said, looking rather pensively at her 
companion. 

“ Oh, yes, mamma is going to let me 
sit up until they are over,” Rosamond 
answered. “ I know they will be lovely.” 

All that day Betty could think of 
nothing but the tableaux, and lament 
that she was so much less fortunate than 
Rosamond. Imagine then her pleasure 
when her uncle said to her, “ Betty, my 
dear, ’t is a pity thee dislikes so to pose ; 
otherwise I would like to have thee in a 
tableau,” and he gave a mocking laugh, 
thinking how the gay child would enjoy 
the fun. 

“ Oh, but I am always willing to pose 
to please thee. Indeed ’t would make 
me happy to oblige thee,” cried Betty, 
who was never at a loss for an answer. 
“Oh, Uncle Richard, I shall be ahead 
of Rosamond for once, for she is only 


Betty , a Butterfly. 133 

to look at the tableaux. What am I 
to be ? ” 

“ The dearest little Greek maid play- 
ing upon the flute. Will not that be 
fine, mistress Betty ? ” 

Betty thought it would be very fine. 
She had all a little girl’s love of dressing 
up, and the prospect of really taking a 
part in a tableau was enchanting to her. 

At last the longed-for evening ar- 
rived, and in all the gay company there 
was no one merrier than little Betty. 
Her eyes were so sparkling, her smiles 
so radiant, that no one could look at her 
without feeling the happier. 

“ She puts us all in good spirits with 
that infectious gayety of hers. I never 
saw any one so happy,” people said to 
her uncle, who watched her with pride, 
and wondered where the little witch had 
learned how to make herself so pleasing. 


134 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


Betty appeared in the first tableau, 
and to judge by the applause when the 
curtain fell, it was a charming picture. 
Even Rosamond, whose heart was a 
little sore that she too had not been 
chosen for one, told Betty that hers was 
the prettiest of all the twelve. 

When the Greek dress was exchanged 
for her own, Betty was given a seat 
among the spectators. Her uncle and 
Mr. John were behind the curtain, but 
every one was so kind that she felt quite 
at her ease. 

“ I suppose you are very much inter- 
ested in your uncle’s pictures,” said a 
pretty lady who was especially kind to 
her. “ He told me that you were the 
model for the last one. What is he 
painting now ? ” 

“ Well, there is the portrait of Rosa- 
mond, thee knows ; and then he has be- 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


135 


gun another picture of an aged crone 
sitting by a well,” answered Betty. “ I 
offered to sit for that too, but he con- 
cluded to have old Aunt Lucindy in- 
stead. It seems a pity, does n’t it, when 
I would be so glad to oblige him ? ” 

“ And you would make a first-rate 
aged crone,” said the gentleman sitting 
behind her. 

“ Do you like so much to pose ? ” 
asked another gentleman. 

“ Well, not so much as I ought to. 
It’s all very well at first, when it’s 
always ‘My sweet Betty this,’ and ‘ My 
dear Betty that,’ and ‘ What a fine picture 
’t is to be ! ’ But soon there is not a word 
to be heard except ‘ Thy head goes 
like a mandarin’s. Can’t thee keep the 
pose better ? Sure there never was 
such a troublesome child ! ’ ’T is not a 
great treat — to pose.” 


136 Betty , a Butterfly. 

“ No, indeed, it ’s no pleasure,” said a 
sweet old lady whose daughter illus- 
trated books. “ I know just how tire- 
some it is, dear. When Kitty is in need 
of a model she often calls upon me, and 
I have sat for everything you can think 
of. It would not surprise me a bit to 
hear that Betty is to pose for the aged 
crone. I have posed for a small boy, 
a young lady, and an old man. I 
draw the line at low necks and short 
sleeves.” 

The tableaux were charming, Betty 
thought. They really looked like 
pictures, which was owing, she sup- 
posed, to the large frame through which 
they were seen. 

She was told that illusion had been 
stretched across the frame, which 
softened the objects behind it. 

There was to be a hop after the 


Betty , a Butterfly. 137 

tableaux ; but, although everybody ex- 
pressed the wish that they should remain, 
Betty’s party went away early. The 
little girl would have liked to stay the 
evening through, but her uncle said she 
had sat up late enough as it was, and 
hurried her off into the vehicle that had 
been engaged to take them home. 

The following day Rosamond came 
for a final sitting. 

Her father and mother left her at 
the studio with the understanding that 
they were to come back for her in an 
hour, when they were for the first time 
to see the picture. Betty knew that her 
uncle dreaded this ordeal, having heard 
him say that Mrs. King was a woman 
whom nothing would satisfy, and that 
she would be sure and make many 
stupid criticisms. 

The sitting did not prove to be a 


138 Betty , a Butterfly. 

very long one ; and, when it was over 
and Uncle Richard went to the house 
to wash his brushes, he sent Betty to 
entertain Rosamond. 

Betty’s dislike to her had lessened 
day by day, until now she began to feel 
really attached to her. 

The children had much to say about 
the tableaux. 

“ I think it was too bad I could not 
be in one,” Rosamond declared. 
“ Mamma said that Mr. Grey did 
not make the most of his material. I 
suppose she meant that he ought to 
have made more of me.” 

“ Thy mother is not an artist. She 
cannot judge,” was the reply. “ Thee 
may be sure Uncle Richard did just 
what was best.” 

“ I could not have taken part even if 
he had wished me to. Mamma does 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


139 


not approve of bringing children for- 
ward so,” said Rosamond, primly. “ It 
makes them vain.” 

“ It only makes silly ones vain. 
Perhaps that is why Uncle Richard 
chose me instead of thee, Rosamond. 
But I ’ll tell thee, Rosy, thee can be in 
a tableau now if thee will.” 

She sat down beside her friend on 
the dais, and explained what she 
thought would be a fine plan. This 
pleased Rosamond, and the children 
hastened to carry it out. 

First, Betty found the frame which 
her uncle used for the portrait, to the 
back of which she tacked a strip of 
illusion. Behind the frame she placed 
Rosamond, with a piece of green plush 
for a background. 

“ Thee sits so still, Rosy, it would 
deceive a cat,” cried Betty, stepping 


140 Betty , a Butterfly. 

back to judge of the effect. “It ’s 
lovely.” 

“ But, after all, it ’s not much fun to 
be in a tableau which no one sees,” said 
Rosy, plaintively. 

“ Indeed no ; but wait and some 
one will see thee. Hark! there is the 
carriage.” 

Betty ran and opened the door as she 
spoke, and Rosamond, now for the first 
time realizing what was to be done, 
remained perfectly motionless. She 
heard Betty say, in a quavering voice, — 

“How does thee do, Mrs. King? 
Does thee not wish to see thy picture?” 

The studio was a large room, and 
Rosamond was sitting at the extreme 
end of it. At a hasty glance one might 
easily be deceived into mistaking her 
for the portrait, and this was just what 
Mrs. King really did. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 14 1 

“ The nose is too long, — a great deal 
too long, and the complexion not fair 
enough for Rosy,’’ she announced in a 
disagreeable, pompous voice, looking 
back over her shoulder at her husband 
and the young painter. “ I am sure, 
Mr. Grey, you wish me to be frank.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Grey, with grave 
politeness, but the twinkle in his eye 
betrayed him. 

Mrs. King took a sharp look at Rosa- 
mond, and discovered that she had been 
the victim of a practical joke. She 
was so chagrined by her mistake that 
when the portrait was brought out she 
had really no criticisms to offer. 


142 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THEE HAS SPOILED THE PICTURE ! ” 



HE Kings left Rose County the 


following day, going to their 
home in New York to make prepara- 
tions for a trip abroad. The picture 
was to be sent to them immediately. 

The season at the hotel was nearly 
over, for already the air had a touch of 
autumn in it. The leaves of the birches 
were turning yellow, but the grass was 
still green ; and on the morning of the 
Kings’ departure Betty sauntered out 
into the fields, where she had no diffi- 
culty in gathering a nosegay of wild 
flowers. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


M3 


Aunt Nancy had never been able to 
understand her extravagant fondness for 
growing, natural objects ; but her uncle 
and Mr. John shared this taste, and 
always had a word of praise for the 
treasures she brought home to them. 
Once she had even gathered a number 
of toadstools, and had shown them to 
her uncle with much anxiety lest he 
should scorn them ; but instead of this, 
he drew her on his knee and admired 
their lovely colors, telling her that she 
had a taste for the decorative. 

What this phrase meant Betty could 
not have told, but she believed it was 
nothing to her discredit. 

Well, as I have said, little Betty 
sauntered out for flowers that fine morn- 
ing ; and as she tripped through the 
fields in her white dress with the high 
puff at the sleeve and her wide-brimmed 


144 Betty , a Butterfly. 

hat, there was not, I am sure, a prettier 
little maid in all Rose County. Gay, 



“ Little Betty sauntered out for flowers that fine morning.” 


old-fashioned songs she sang as she 
went, so that one could almost trace her 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


H5 


course by the silvery voice coming first 
from the rocky pasture, then down in 
the valley along the brook, and again 
up among the old cedars on the oppo- 
site hill, — 

“ The sun is up, the hills are bright ; 

The dew begins to fade away before the morning 
light, — 

Before the morning light, before the morning light,” 

trolled out pretty Betty in her sweet, 
childish treble. That her radiant little 
face should ever be clouded by a serious 
trouble was a chance not to be consid- 
ered on that clear fair morning, and it 
was well that as she wandered among the 
old cedars she was in such happy igno- 
rance of what was about to befall her. 

This hill over which Betty was scram- 
bling belonged to her grandfather’s 
farm. An old tumble-down stone wall, 

which Uncle Richard called picturesque 
10 


146 Betty , a Butterfly . 

and Aunt Nancy called shiftless, divided 
it from Miss Tucker’s pasture ; and here, 
sitting under a decayed apple-tree, it 
was Betty’s ill-fortune to find Jerry. 

For some moments he had sat here 
listening to the little girl’s song ; and, 
strange as you will think it, the merry, 
careless tone of it, which should have 
charmed him like the joyful trill of a 
bird’s song, only stirred in his heart 
a cruel desire to take Miss Betty 
down. 

It is true that she had always beaten 
Jerry on his own ground. She could 
run faster, climb higher, and had often 
shown a deal more courage than him- 
self, and these are accomplishments not 
easily forgiven in a girl. 

In the past he had never been able to 
find any way of teasing her. She was 
ever so careless and so frolicsome, and 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


147 


had such a quick way of turning all his 
jokes against himself. But now the 
hateful boy felt sure that he could plant a 
sting in that careless heart of hers. Ac- 
cordingly when Betty came up with her 
head on one side, and singing, — 

“ The sun is up, the hills are bright,” 

Jerry begged her to stop with him for a 
moment, and when she was seated on 
the wall beside him, repeated disagreea- 
ble remarks that he said he had heard 
made about her uncle. 

It was always the same story with 
Jerry, — that Mr. Lawton was a cele- 
brated artist, and Betty’s uncle a poor 
fellow that no one had ever heard of. 

“ Folks say,” ended Jerry, “ he had 
better throw away his brushes, and go to 
work with the hoe.” 

It was foolish talk, but it was bitter to 
Betty, who turned away her face, and 


148 Betty , a Butterfly. 

was grateful that the big hat hid her 
annoyance from his peering eyes. 

She could not speak for a moment, 
but sat with downcast eyes pulling her 
flowers to pieces. 

“ People here do not know much 
about anything but hoes,” she said at 
last. “ I am sorry, Jerry,” she went on 
in a tone full of pity, “ that thee cannot 
have even a peep at the portrait of 
Rosamond.” 

“ Why can’t I see the portrait ? ” he 
asked sullenly. 

“ Oh, there is a good reason, — a very 
good reason. Can’t thee guess ? Well, 
I ’ll tell thee,” said Betty, leaning her 
elbow on the wall, and fixing her mock- 
ing eyes upon him. “ It ’s because thee 
has never been invited.” 

“ I don’t wish to be invited,” retorted 
Jerry, angrily. “ It ’s ugly enough to 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


149 


scare the crows, I dare say. I don’t 
want to see it.” 

“ Fie, fie, thee should not be so cross. 
Maybe I was even now going to invite 
thee to see the picture, and that sour 
speech has changed my mind.” 

And so the glib little tongue ran on, 
while Betty was questioning in her mind 
whether or not she dared take any one 
into the studio. Her uncle and Mr. 
John were away, but the portrait was 
upon the easel, and what harm could it 
be for Jerry to have a look at it. The 
sight of it she was sure would astonish 
him. 

As for Jerry, he had long been curious 
to see the inside of the old barn where 
the artists worked and of which he had 
heard queer tales. 

“ Come now, Betty,” he coaxed, “ thee 
can show me the picture if thee chooses.” 


150 Betty , a Butterfly . 

“ Well, thee is a lucky boy to come 
across me when I am in this beautiful 
humor,” she cried at length. “ But we 
must hurry a little, for I want to put my 
flowers in water.” 

So the two children went on together, 
Betty’s feet tripping on in advance, 
and no doubt keeping pace with the 
heart-beats which were quickened by 
the thought of the liberty she was 
taking. 

Upon reaching the studio she led 
Jerry in, enjoying his open-mouthed 
wonder as so many strange objects met 
his eye. 

Even Betty was satisfied at his sur- 
prise when she had at last wheeled him 
before the portrait of Rosamond. 

“ And are they really going to have 
that big thing hanging up in their 
house ? ” he asked in astonishment. 


Betty, a Butterfly. 15 1 

“ It would hardly go in Miss Tucker’s 
parlor.” 

“ Oh, they have a fine big house, with 
their own private picture-gallery in it,” 
cried Betty, as airily as if this was the 
general custom among her acquaint- 
ances. “Well, thee sees, Jerry, what 
lovely pictures my uncle can paint. I 
hope thee is satisfied.” 

“ I don’t know,” was Jerry’s ungrateful 
answer. “ Maybe this picture don’t 
look much like the girl. I never saw 
her and can’t tell. If it does, she is a 
mighty light-livered one. Let ’s see thy 
portrait, Betty; I can judge better of 
that.” 

The picture for which Betty had so 
frequently posed had been carried to 
the little room where harnesses had 
been kept in the days when the building 
was not a studio but a barn. There she 


152 Betty , a Butterfly . 

went in search of it, feeling that it must 
be thorough work with Jerry while he 
was here, an event that would probably 
never occur again. She determined 
that he should see this picture under 
the most favorable circumstances, and 
rummaged about for a frame, thankful 
that her companion waited with such 
remarkable patience. 

At length, suspecting mischief, Betty 
went back into the studio. 

Jerry was standing by the easel. He 
had a brush in his hand, which Betty 
seeing, gave a startled cry. 

“ Jerry, Jerry! ” she cried in an agony 
of fear, “ thee hast not touched the 
picture ? ” 

Then as he turned towards her in his 
slow, stupid fashion, her eyes fell upon 
the canvas, and she saw the mischief he 
had wrought there. 


Betty , a Butterfly. .153 

Over the tender tones of the flesh he 
had daubed some dark paint which 
he called a mustache; he had added a 
pipe, and now, grinning at Betty’s dis- 
tress, asked what more she would have. 

“ Thee has spoiled the picture ! ” cried 
Betty, wringing her hands. “ Uncle 
Richard does well to keep such boors 
away. Oh, Jerry, I would not think that 
even thee could be so stupid.” 

“ ’T is easy enough to rub it off if it 
does not please thee,” answered the boy, 
sullenly. 

“ No, thee can not rub it off. ’T is 
quite, quite spoiled, and what Uncle 
Richard will say to me I do not know.” 

Her voice was choked with sobs, but 
her eyes blazed; and Jerry, obeying the 
motion of her hand, left the studio. 

“ I shan’t hear anything more about — 

11 ‘ The sun is up, the hills are bright,’ etc., 


154 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


for the present,” he said, and laughed 
to himself over his cruel joke. 

Betty’s anger against him faded im- 
mediately away, for she realized that 
she herself, in bringing him into 
the studio, had made the calamity 
possible. 

She ran to the house to find Mr. 
John, on whose sympathy she could 
always rely. He was writing in the 
sitting-room, according to his custom 
at this hour, and, seeing her distressed 
face, threw down his pen and drew 
her towards him. 

So many knocks and bruises had the 
brave child borne without a tear, during 
the summer, that he never thought of 
such a mishap, but feared that some ac- 
cident had befallen her uncle. 

He listened gravely while Betty ex- 
plained what had happened; but when 


Betty , a Butterfly. 155 

the story was told, he started up, 
exclaiming, — 

“ I declare, I would like to break 
every bone in that boy’s body ! Where 
is he now ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; I sent him away : 
but anyhow thee had better break my 
bones,” said Betty, meekly. “ It was 
my fault. Is it so very bad, Mr. John ? 
Cannot Uncle Richard make it - right 
again ? ” 

“ Rosamond is not here, you know, 
Betty, and it will be difficult ; but don’t 
cry any more, dear. I am going to take 
a look at the picture. Will you come 
too?” 

“ I have had a look at the picture, and 
I never want to see it again,” answered 
Betty, burying her head in the sofa 
cushions as if to shut out some hideous 
sight. “ Oh, when Uncle Richard sees 


156 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


it, he will wish I had died a little baby 
as he thought.” 

“ Tut, tut, child! that’s morbid; you 
know he will not wish anything of the 
kind.” 

“ If thee had done it thee would be 
morbid thyself,” groaned Betty. 

“No, I would simply be sorry, and 
resolve to be more careful in the future ; 
and I would not cry any more, for red 
eyes and a swollen nose won’t help 
matters. You know your uncle is not 
partial to tears.” 

Betty knew that very well, and what- 
ever happened, she determined not to 
cry. But her dry eyes were nevertheless 
full of despair as she sat by the window 
waiting for his return. 

To think that she who loved him so 
should have been the one to injure him ! 
He would with good reason feel that 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


157 


she was not to be trusted, for through 
her wilfulness the mischief had been 
done. Never again would he say as he 
had said when he left the studio that 
morning, — 

“ I leave all in thy care while I am 
gone, Mistress Betty,” and he had added 
to Mr. John, “She is the only child I 
would trust in a studio; but she has 
ever a care that no harm comes to our 
belongings.” 

The morning passed. When dinner 
was announced, Mr. John said that as 
her uncle had gone to the hotel, he 
would probably dine there, and they 
would not wait for him. 

Mr. John was kindness itself, filling 
her plate with delicacies which she 
could not eat even to please him. 
He took her with him after dinner 
on to the porch, where, as he smoked 


158 Betty , a Butterfly . 

his cigar, he vainly tried to comfort 
her. 

When at last her uncle came up the 
road, swinging his cane and humming a 
gay song, Betty’s heart beat like a trip- 
hammer. It would have been so much 
easier to meet him at first before she 
had time to grow nervous. 

As he raised his eyes, he caught sight 
of the little girl’s vanishing skirts, as 
in a sudden panic she flew from the 
porch. 

“ Stop, my sweet Mistress Betty,” he 
cried ; “ come and see what I have 
brought for thee ! ” 

Betty heard his voice, and flew the 
faster, for the kind words cut her to the 
heart. She hastened into the little nest 
he had made for her, and shutting her 
eyes so that she should not see the dear 
familiar wall-pictures, flung herself mis- 


159 


Betty , a Butterfly. 



“ She buried her head deeper in her arms.' 


erably upon the window-seat, and buried 
her face in her arms. Her uncle’s 
cheery voice floated up to her, - — 


160 Betty , a Butterfly . 

“ Where has the little gypsy gone ? 
I want her.” 

“ Let her alone, Richard, now,” said 
Mr. John ; “ we have unpleasant news 
for you. That boy of Miss Tucker’s 
has been meddling with Rosamond’s 
portrait.” 

“ The boy of Miss Tucker’s ? What 
do you mean, John ? How came he 
in the studio ? ” 

At this question, there was a moan 
from Betty’s window. She buried her 
head deeper in her arms that she might 
not hear the answer; and when again 
she looked without, the young men had 
left the porch. 

“ I am in no mood to see the child,” 
her uncle was saying, as if in answer to 
some entreaty of Mr. John. “ I am 
going to find out how much harm has 
been done.” 


Betty , a Butterfly . 161 

And he strode away toward the 
studio. 

“ I do not believe he will ever wish to 
see me,” said Betty ; and in despair at 
the thought she crept to her bed, where 
she soon sobbed herself to sleep. 

When Betty woke it was already dusk. 
She did not want to get up, but lay 
quite still, listening to the various 
sounds about the house. 

First, there were footsteps on the 
stairs, and then up and down her uncle’s 
room. She heard the opening and 
closing of drawers, and some heavy ob- 
ject being carried below. This was 
followed by the sound of wheels outside, 
and the unusual event of a knock at the 
front door. 

Betty went to the window, and in the 
faint light was just able to discern the 
figure of a man climbing into a vehicle, 

ii 


i 62 


Betty, a Butterfly . 


which then started with unusual rapidity 
down the road. 

She went out into the hall, and look- 
ing down the staircase, saw Mr. John 
fastening the door. 

“ Ah, there you are, little one,” he 
said kindly. “ Come down and help me 
keep house.” 

“Where is Uncle Richard?” de- 
manded Betty. 

“Gone to New York, — that is, he 
will go if he catches the train. It is 
now half-past six, and the train goes at 
seven,” he went on, looking at his watch. 
“ But they have a good horse, and I have 
no doubt they ’ll reach the station in 
time.” 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


163 


CHAPTER X. 

THE FIRE. 

“ jLJE went away without bidding me 
good-by. He went away with- 
out bidding me good-by.” 

Mr. John must have grown very tired 
of the foregoing sentence, he heard it 
so often during the next few days. 

He tried to explain to Betty that 
when her uncle had finally decided to 
go to New York in order to have an- 
other sitting from Rosamond, there was 
little time to spare, for trains will not 
wait while offended uncles make part- 
ing speeches to miserable nieces. 

Betty did not accept this explanation 
as the real reason, for she believed that 


164 Betty , a Butterfly . 

he did not care to see her ; and she 
jumped to the conclusion that he would 
never forgive her, much less care for. her 
as before. 

She wore a pale face and moped all 
day, until at last Mr. John became anx- 
ious about her and consulted Rachel, 
who tried to reassure him. 

“ The little butterfly will not mope 
long,” she said. “ Betty will soon be 
her own giddy self.” 

But if Betty were a butterfly now, it 
was one with a broken wing. She was 
seen no more gayly flitting about in the 
sunshine, but sat with drooping head in 
the house. 

When the mail came, indeed, she 
would brighten a bit while Mr. John 
looked the letters over, hoping to find 
one from Uncle Richard; but from 
him there never came a word. Then 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


l6 5 

would Mr. John scold, and Betty de- 
clare that as far as she was con- 
cerned it was no more than she 
deserved. 

She lost the lovely color that her 
uncle had bidden her keep to please 
him, and grew more and more feeble 
each day, until at last even Rachel be- 
came alarmed and advised that the 
doctor should be sent for. 

The doctor prescribed quinine, which 
Betty obediently took ; but it did not 
restore her roses, which Mr. John 
declared could not bloom because of 
the tears that were always falling upon 
them. He tried patiently to comfort 
and divert her. He played dominos 
and cribbage and checkers with her. 
He taught her simple airs on the man- 
dolin. He sent to the city for story- 
books to amuse her, and over these she 



1 66 Betty , a Butterfly. 

sometimes forgot her trouble. Most of 
them were about wonderful little boys 


“ He taught her simple airs on the mandolin.” 

and girls who seemed to think only of 
the happiness of others, and whose 


Betty , a Butterfly. 167 

whole lives were made up of a succes- 
sion of beautiful acts. 

“ They are paper children, Betty,” 
Mr. John said, when she contrasted 
them with a certain young person by 
no means so faultless. “ They are too 
good to be believed in as human boys 
and girls.” 

But Betty was too attached to these 
small people to give them up. She in- 
sisted that they were real children, but 
the authors had politely skipped the 
wicked things they did, relating only 
the good ones. 

“ But if they wrote about me in that 
way,” said poor Betty, “ it would make a 
very short story.” 

Nearly every day she received a visit 
from Rachel, whose quiet presence 
soothed her. She would take the child’s 
hot hands in her own soft cool ones and 


1 68 


Betty , & Butterfly . 


talk seriously, as no one else did, over 
her troubles. 

“ Thee is grieving more than is rea- 
sonable, dear Betty. When thy uncle 
returns it will all be made right,” she 
would urge. “ I do not say that thee 
did not do wrong to let Jerry into the 
studio, but thee is sorry for it, dear 
child ; nor is it such a great sin that thy 
uncle should not be able to forgive thee. 
Besides, thee worries so much thee is 
making thyself ill.” 

“ Did I not tell thee, Rachel, that ’t is 
unhealthy to love any one very much ? ” 
Betty would reply. “Was I not always 
well when I thought only of myself? 
Dear Rachel, thee was always begging 
me not to be so giddy, but now that 
I am sober thee seems no better 
pleased.” 

“ But thee should be more moderate, 


Betty , a Butterfly. 169 

dear child. Surely ’t is not good to let 
thy feelings move thee so.” 

“ It is not wise, perhaps, but I cannot 
do things by halves. Once there was 
no one so happy as I, but now I shall 
always be wretched ; ” and she would 
speak so sadly and soberly that although 
Rachel knew that brighter days would 
follow for Betty, she found it difficult to 
keep a cheerful face. 

Although the almanac insisted that 
but three weeks had passed, it seemed 
that Uncle Richard had been away a 
long time, and Mr. John, although he 
said nothing to Betty, was really becom- 
ing anxious. It was now time that the 
‘picture — the masterpiece, as he and 
Betty playfully called it — should be 
sent to the exhibition, the artist’s neg- 
lect of it being quite unaccountable. 
He asked Betty if she knew where 


170 Betty , a Butterfly . 

the picture was. Yes, Betty said, she 
had good reason to know, having seen 
it standing against the wall of the old 
harness-room on that unlucky day when 
Jerry had been admitted to the studio. 
“ Since I have spoiled Rosamond’s pic- 
ture,” she added, “ I ought to take good 
care of this one, although I know hers 
was of the more consequence.” 

“ Not at all,” cried Mr. John, consol- 
ingly. “Yours is the better picture of 
the two, my dear, and does your uncle 
the more credit.” 

“ Now how can that be when my flesh 
is not luminous, and Rosamond’s is like 
a pearl,” cried Betty ? 

“ What do you know of such things, 
child?” laughed Mr. John. “ I did not 
know that there is anything the matter 
with your flesh, except that at present 
there is not enough of it,” he added, with 


Betty , a Butterfly. 171 

a troubled look at her thin cheeks. “ I 
can assure you that the best bit of work 
I have ever seen of his is this very pict- 
ure of yours ; so see to it, little one, 
that no harm befalls it.” 

He knew it would please her to be- 
lieve there was aught she could do for 
him that was the nearest to her heart, 
but he never dreamed how seriously 
she accepted the trust. 

She was so serious, indeed, that the 
tears actually stood in her eyes as she 
said, “ To-morrow I will go to the stu- 
dio and look after it, and I promise thee 
it shall come to no harm ” 

It was a rare thing for Mr. John to 
leave Betty for an evening, but on the 
one following this conversation he had 
an engagement at the hotel which would 
take him from home several hours. 
Rachel willingly promised, however, to 


172 Betty , a Butterfly. 

keep the little girl company in his ab- 
sence, so that he need have no qualms 
about leaving her. 

“ Now, little one, I shall be home as 
early as I can,” he said, kissing the 
poor pale little face she held up to him. 
“ Here is Miss Rachel to stay with you, 
and perhaps she will read you about 
some of those remarkable little person- 
ages that you are so fond of. Good- 
by, darling,” he said. 

He came back again and looked in 
at the door with a smile that would have 
cheered any heart but Betty’s, and again 
he said, “ I will be back early, — at ten 
o’clock if I can ; and you must be sound 
asleep.” 

Then he started off, trying to forget 
the sad, haunting eyes which looked so 
large and so dark in that little pale 
face. 


173 


Betty , a Butterfly. 

“ Well, Betty, darling,” began Rachel, 
when the door had closed upon him, 
“ how does thee find thyself to-day ? ” 

“ I ’ve been very — morbid,” was 
the answer; for Betty had added the 
word she heard so often to her own 
vocabulary. 

“ Thee is making us all unhappy, 
child. Poor Mr. John is quite upset 
by it, thee knows. I must tell thee 
that Aunt Nancy has been steeping 
some horrible herbs to-day which she 
says are to make thee well. Ugh ! thee 
has no idea what a nauseous mess it is. 
Thee must hurry and get better, or thee 
will have to take it.” 

Betty did not care to have Rachel 
read to her, but sat and talked until her 
head began to nod and she confessed 
to feeling tired. 

It was pleasant to have her gentle 


174 Betty , a Butterfly . 

friend, with those soft fingers of hers, help 
her undress and tuck her comfortably 
into bed. She liked, too, to watch her 
pretty, trim figure as she stepped lightly 
about the room putting things in order 
for the night. But by and by her eyes 
closed ; and Rachel, lying down upon the 
sofa that had been brought into Betty’s 
room, soon fell asleep. 

For some time Betty drowsed ; but at 
last a bright light, shining into the 
window opposite her bed, wakened her. 

It seemed to Rachel that she had 
hardly stretched herself upon the sofa 
before Betty was pulling her arm and 
calling her. 

“ Oh, Rachel ! ” the little girl shrieked, 
as she stood shivering by the sofa ; 
“ the studio is on fire ! the studio is 
burning ! ” 

Rachel sprang up and ran to the 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


I 75 


window, while Betty began hurriedly to 
dress herself, for the excitement gave 
her strength, and she was soon hurrying 
Rachel down the stairs. 

“ Thee must not go out,” Rachel 
said, trying to hold her back. “ Thee 
will take cold in the night air. I am 
going to rouse the neighbors, and that ’s 
all we can do.” 

“ But what neighbors ? ” asked Betty. 
“ Aunt Nancy is perhaps at home, but 
what can she do ? And thy father with 
the rheumatism in his feet cannot even 
walk so far ; and Thomas — oh, Rachel ! 
is Thomas at home to-night? ” 

“No,” answered Rachel; “it’s the 
night for the town-meeting. All the 
men will be in the village. Oh, if Mr. 
John were only here ! ” 

Betty opened the front door, and 
catching up a watering-pot standing on 


1 76 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


the porch, rushed towards the studio ; 
and Rachel, who could not help smiling 
in spite of the gravity of the situation, 
closely followed her. 

They stopped at last, appalled by the 
awful sight of the burning building ; for 
how could they hope to subdue these 
rushing flames that sprang up so vividly 
against the sky? 

“ It is of no use,” cried Rachel, “ to 
stay here. I am going to spread wet 
blankets on the roof of the house, for 
the wind carries the cinders right in 
that direction. Will thee come too? 
Yes, come into the house, dear; thee 
can do nothing here.” 

But Betty could not find it in her 
heart to leave the studio to its fate. 
“ Of what account was the house,” she 
asked herself, scornfully, “ when there 
was ‘ the masterpiece’ burning up ? How 


Betty , a Butterfly . 177 

was Uncle Richard ever to win the 
fame he deserved if some accident 
always befell his pictures ? ” 

She let Rachel go alone to the house, 
and then tried to open the great door 
of the studio ; but that was impossible. 
Then she tried the window of the 
harness-room, and succeeded, after 
breaking the glass, in turning the 
fastening and opening it. A great 
volume of smoke came out and choked 
her. 

“ Oh, must I go in there ? ” cried 
Betty, with alt the shrinking from 
physical pain natural to pleasure-loving 
natures. 

Twice she let herself be driven back 
by the smoke and heat, but always the 
words of Mr. John rang in her ear: 
“ See to it that no harm befalls the 
picture.” If she could only save it, 


1 7 8 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


surely her uncle would forgive her the 
injury she had done to Rosamond’s. 
It was a thought that gave her courage 
to push through the window into that 
perilous place where the pictures were. 
As she groped her way in, her trembling 
little hand felt along the wall until it 
touched the thing of which she was in 
search. 

Panting with fright, she pushed it 
before her out of the window. And 
now there was nothing to do but to 
climb up to the window-seat and let 
herself out of the building. It was 
none too soon ; for at that very moment 
the flames, with a roar, burst through 
the partition into the little harness- 


room. 


Betty , a Butterfly . 


179 


CHAPTER XI. 
uncle Richard’s return. 

Imagine Mr. John’s sensation upon 
hearing of the fire ! He was in the 
office of the hotel when some one who 
had just come in from the street in- 
formed him that a house in his locality 
was burning, and a whole posse of 
men from the town-meeting were run- 
ning in that direction. 

Mr. John had not waited to hear the 
conclusion of the sentence, but had 
taken a horse from the livery-stable 
and set out at its very fastest pace for 
home. He knew by the direction of 
the light that the fire was on one of 


180 Betty , a Butterfly. 

three farms, — that belonging to Miss 
Tucker, or to Rachel’s father, or that of 
his friend ; and as he thought of Rachel 
and the child alone, he urged on the poor 
horse to something more than his natu- 
ral gait, soon passing the men who had 
come from the town-meeting on the 
way. 

The house, when he reached it, was 
empty ; and with a great deal of anxiety 
he went out to find Rachel and Betty. 
He gave hardly a thought to the studio, 
now completely enveloped in flames; 
but he went towards it, loudly calling 
the names of the two he sought. 

Then from the shadow of a group of 
trees sprang a light figure. It was 
Rachel, who had caught the sound of 
his voice and was hurrying towards 
him. 

“ Betty is hurt. I have just found 


Betty , a Butterfly . 1 8 1 

her,” she cried. “ I have carried her as 
far as I could from the studio. Oh, I 
fear she is much hurt. Come quickly.” 

There, by the little dark mound 
which he knew must be Betty, Mr. John 
stooped down. 

“ Betty, dear little Betty,” he said in 
his gentlest voice, “ where are you 
hurt ? ” 

A long quivering sigh was the only 
answer. 

“ We must take her into the house 
and send at once for the doctor,” he 
said in a quick way to Rachel. 

Just at this moment the men came 
trooping up the road. They had come 
to rescue the building, but it was too 
late, for already the walls were falling 
in. There was nothing now to be done ; 
and shouting wildly with excitement, 
they stood watching the flames. 


182 


Betty , # Butterfly. 


“ Let us take her away from here. 
Let us go to Aunt Nancy’s,” said 
Rachel. 

As Mr. John tenderly lifted the little 
figure in his strong arms, Betty was 
aroused to a knowledge of what was 
going on around her. 

“ Rachel,” she whispered. “ Where 
is the picture ? ” 

But no one knew anything about it. 

“ I saved it,” said Betty. “ I remem- 
ber pushing it out through the window; 
it must be there on the ground. Thee 
won’t leave it behind, will thee, Mr. 
John ? ” 

“ No, sweet Betty, dear little Betty,” 
they answered her. “ We will take 
care of it.” 

One of the men who had come for- 
ward to help them now offered to go in 
search of it, and it was found in the 


Betty , a Butterfly. 183 

spot Betty had indicated. Then the 
sad little procession moved on, Mr. 
John trying to keep the child’s courage 
up as he carefully picked his way to 
avoid the pain of jarring her, while the 
man with the picture kept closely 
behind him, and Rachel followed in 
silent tears. 

They laid her on her own little bed 
at Aunt Nancy’s, where she had spent 
so many nights in healthful sleep. 
Now a sharp pain kept her awake. 

The doctor decided that the child’s 
spine had been injured by some timber 
falling upon her from the burning build- 
ing. As if that were not enough, a 
fever set in that seemed to burn up like 
straw all her remaining strength. 

It was the cruellest pain that Betty 
suffered. Yet sometimes she would 
lie quietly with a smile on her lips, 


184 Betty , a Butterfly. 

looking at the stretcher, which at her 
earnest wish was kept always with its 
face against the wall of her chamber. 

At such times she would sometimes 
whisper to Rachel, — 

“He will forgive me when he sees 
that, for thee will tell him that it 
was his careless Betty who saved it. 
That will please him, will it not, dear 
Rachel ? He will think, ‘ ’T was not as 
I believed, for she was not altogether 
selfish and bad ; and so I ’ll forgive her 
and see her again.* ” 

And presently she would say : “ When 
he knows that the studio has burned to 
the ground, will he not be glad to find 
that this, at least, has. been saved for 
him, Rachel ? For it is his very best 
work, — Mr. John told me that; and 
he will say, ‘Yes, my dear Betty, 
once thee did me an ill-turn ; but I 


Betty , a. Butterfly. 185 

forgive thee for this brave deed of thine.’ 
Does thee think he will say as much as 
that, dear Rachel? Indeed, Mr. John 
said it was a brave deed.” 

And Rachel would be forced to steal 
away to hide her tears, for Betty must 
not know that she had saved nothing 
but a worthless, blank canvas. 

It seemed cruel that her sacrifice had 
been in vain, for Betty’s one pleasant 
thought was that she had saved the 
picture. This belief helped her bear 
her pain even when it was sharpest, and 
who could have the heart to take it 
from her? Mr. John declared that she 
should never know how useless her 
sufferings were, for “ Dick ” could easily 
paint another picture from memory 
that would deceive as uncritical an eye 
as Betty’s. But “ Dick ” still remained 
away. 


1 86 Betty , a Butterfly. 

One day, made long with suffering, 
Betty’s courage at last gave out. 

“ I cannot bear the pain any more,” 
she panted. “ Oh, Rachel ! why does 
not Uncle Richard come ? If I could 
only hear him say, ‘ I forgive thee, my 
sweet Mistress Betty,’ — thee knows 
he always called me ‘ sweet Mistress 
Betty,’ — I could get well again. I can 
never get well till he comes. Oh, why 
does he stay so long away ? ” 

“Hush, dear! hush! thee will make 
thyself worse,” said Aunt Nancy, who 
was waving the great palm-leaf fan that 
Betty might breathe the easier. “ Thee 
will surely not have long now to wait.” 

Then, with tears of pity for the poor 
child, she went downstairs to find Mr. 
John, who in her nervous irritation she 
blamed for failing to bring the absent 
one home. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 187 

Mr. John listened patiently, knowing 
what a relief this was to Aunt Nancy’s 
strained nerves ; but he could not blame 
himself for aught. He had written to 
Betty’s uncle, imploring him to come 
home, sending letters to every address 
he could think of as a possible one for 
the missing man. He had even spent a 
couple of days in New York on the 
chance of finding him there. No, there 
was nothing more to be done. 

So the time dragged wearily on. 
There was no green left in the fields. 
The wooded hills were clad in their 
russet gowns. Winter was coming. 
At last, on a day when the rain fell 
drearily, the wind howled, and little 
Betty moaned in her piteous way, “ I 
shall never see him again — never again,” 
her uncle returned. 

He had received the last of Mr. 


1 88 Betty , a Butterfly. 

John’s letters that very morning when 
he arrived in New York from Saratoga, 
where he had been painting the por- 
trait of a fine lady. He had no better 
reason to give for his neglect of them 
than his absorption in his work, which 
all agreed in thinking was no reason at 
all. It seemed a very poor one even to 
himself, as he listened to the long story 
of Betty’s suffering and her need of 
him. 

For Betty, if she lived, they said, was 
probably to be a cripple. A cripple ! — 
that joyous little being so full of life and 
graceful motion ! 

Bitterly he reproached himself as he 
stooped by her bed, wondering if this 
little feeble thing, struggling for breath 
to speak to him, could be the bright, 
gladsome child his memory retained. 

It was a sad and yet such a happy 


Betty , a Butterfly . 189 

meeting ! Sad for him, but great happi- 
ness for little Betty, who, after all, saw 



“ Thee is as beautiful as ever.” 


nothing but love for her in his hand- 
some blue eyes ; for she knew at once 


190 Betty , a Butterfly. 

as he kissed her cheek — so gently, as 
if she were truly dear to him — that he 
forgave her and would love her again. 

“ Thee is as beautiful as ever,” she 
whispered, turning his face that she 
might see it. “ Does thee mind to find 
me looking so ? I was always brown 
and ugly, thee knows, and never good 
for much as a model.” 

Long after he had been sent away by 
Rachel, who feared the child might 
weary herself with talking, she lay smil- 
ing to herself, with her eyes shining 
somewhat in the old happy way. 

And Uncle Richard went downstairs 
among them all with tears, which he 
did not even try to restrain, rolling 
down his cheeks. So sad he was, .that 
Aunt Nancy, with such scant cheer as 
there was to offer, strove to comfort 
him. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 191 

At the first, after her uncle’s coming, 
it seemed as if Betty were really going 
to keep her off-repeated promise to get 
well when her Uncle Richard came 
home. The fever left her almost imme- 
diately, and she was able to sleep. Yet 
never was a child so weak and helpless. 
Her face was so white and thin that for 
all its pleasant, sunny smile it made 
one’s heart ache to look at it. 

Soon, they said, she must know the 
bitter truth that she could never walk 
again unaided. As long as they could 
they had spared her this knowledge ; but 
already she had begun to question why 
she could not get up by herself, but 
must needs be lifted from place to place 
like a baby. 

It would naturally fall to Uncle Rich- 
ard’s lot to perform this sad task. They 
all knew she would rather he were the 


192 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


one to tell her ; but the young man de- 
layed the telling. “ A day longer,” he 
would say, “ and perhaps the doctor may 
see reasons for changing his mind. We 
will wait a day longer.” 

In truth, he could not himself be 
reconciled to the thought of his merry, 
graceful Betty being forced to limp pain- 
fully through life on crutches. He could 
not be reconciled to such a bitter thing, 
and one day in a desperate mood he sent 
to New York for a famous doctor who 
made a speciality of such cases. 

This doctor, after a careful examina- 
tion of the little girl’s back, which he 
thumped as if it had no more feeling 
than a sofa cushion, took a more hope- 
ful view of the case, and decided that 
she might in time entirely recover, but 
he would not promise that this would be 
at once. Before Betty could be herself 


Betty , a Butterfly. 193 

again there must pass months of weary 
waiting, when she would require patient 
and constant care. Fortunately there 
was no lack of willing nurses ; and Betty 
was quite content, feeling that she 
gained, though ever so little, each week. 

She could well be cheerful, for no 
child was ever more lovingly tended. 
Her uncle’s constant kindness was re- 
ceived with a grateful heart by the little 
patient, who often begged him to tell her 
what she could do for him in return. 
His answer invariably was, “ Make haste 
to get thy roses again ; ” and he would 
kiss first one pale cheek and then the 
other before adding, “ Indeed, Mistress 
Betty, the Grey homestead is but a 
lonesome place without thee ; and when 
the spring comes, thee must be with 
me once more.” 

The winter, with only an occasional 
13 


194 Betty , a Butterfly . 

trip to the city, he had passed on the old 
farm, Mr. John still bearing him com- 
pany; but in May he would be alone, 
for then Mr. John and Rachel were to 
be married, to no one’s surprise but 
Betty’s who nevertheless immediately 
sanctioned the match. 

By some strange process of reasoning 
unknown to the rest of mankind, she 
discovered that it gave her two new re- 
lations ; and both Mr. John and Rachel 
assured her that it also gave her a new 
home. 

Besides this, Aunt Nancy’s house was 
always open to Betty ; but although in 
her illness Aunt Nancy had so shown 
her the depth of her love and tender- 
ness that she never again could doubt 
them, she was never quite happy when 
away from her Uncle Richard. 

Therefore, in the spring, the day after 


Betty , a Butterfly. 195 

Rachel’s wedding, Betty was carried 
home. 

With the fresh, cool May breezes her 
healthy color came back. Soon, with 
Uncle Richard’s help, she was able to 
walk out ; and before autumn came again 
she was as strong and active as ever. 

But although she was still the merri- 
est of little girls, she was no longer a 
mere butterfly to flit from pleasure to 
pleasure in aimless, careless fashion. 
There was work to be done and pleasure 
in the doing it, since it was sure to win 
the approval of her uncle. Thus each 
year she became more companionable 
and more useful to him, and he came to 
rely more and more on her bright cheer- 
fulness and affection. 

At all events it was often said in the 
circle of friends who gathered about 
them in their home in New York that 


196 Betty , a Butterfly . 

Mr. Grey was never quite at his best un- 
less sweet Mistress Betty presided over 
his house. The younger artists used 
laughingly to add that his unusual suc- 
cess in art was due to her co-operation. 

There is a final word to be said about 
“ the masterpiece ” before this story can 
come to an end. 

One day, before the little invalid was 
able to sit up, the stretcher was care- 
fully removed from her room, and it was 
supposed by Betty that it had been sent 
to the exhibition. Soon after its dis- 
appearance, a number of notices from 
different newspapers were read to her, 
all of which spoke in praise of the work 
of Mr. Grey, the description of his pic- 
ture leaving no room for doubt that it 
was the identical one for which Betty 
had been the model. 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


197 


Perhaps you think these notices were 
composed by the reader. Not at all ; for 
although Betty had not saved “ the mas- 
terpiece,” it was nevertheless at that very 
moment hanging on the exhibition walls, 
having been taken with Rosamond’s 
portrait to New York by Uncle Richard 
himself. 

The notices were kept as priceless 
treasures by Betty, who, Mr. John de- 
clared, meant finally to have them 
framed. Be that as it may, — and I 
would not be answerable for the child’s 
fond foolishness, — one of the first pleas- 
ures of her convalescence was in reading 
them to Jerry. 

“ Thee sees,” said Betty with a proud 
smile, having arrived at the final pe- 
riod, “that Uncle Richard is a famous 
artist.” 


198 


Betty , a Butterfly. 


“ Well, mebbe he is,” was the doubt- 
ful rejoinder, as the boy stood awkwardly 
twirling his hat ; “ but paintin’ is awful 
triflin’ work, and I know I could beat 
him hoein’ corn.” 


Roberts Brothers Juvenile Books. 


Dear Daughter Dorothy. 

BY MISS A. G. PLYMPTON. 

With seven illustrations by the author. Small 4to. Cloth. 


PRICE, $1.00. 



“ The child is father of the man,” — so Wordsworth sang ; and here is a jolly 
story of a little girl who was her father’s mother in a very real way. There were 
hard lines for him ; and she was fruitful of devices to help him along, even hav- 
ing an auction of the pretty things that had been given her from time to time, and 
realizing a neat little sum. Then her father was accused of peculation ; and she, 
sweetly ignorant of the ways of justice, went to the judge and labored with him, 
to no effect, though he was wondrous kind. Then in court she gave just the 
wrong evidence, because it showed how poor her father was, and so established a 
presumption of his great necessity and desperation. But the Deus ex machina 
— the wicked partner — arrived at the right moment, and owned up, and the good 
father was cleared, and little Daughter Dorothy was made glad. But this meagre 
summary gives but a poor idea of the ins and outs of this charming story, and no 
idea of the happy way in which it is told. — Christian Register. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. 



































































































































